Time Stitches You
by sinecure
Summary: Spike uses Willow to go back in time to avoid being implanted by the Initiative, but- has even one of Spike's plans ever gone right? They end up a little further back in time than he intended. *WiP*
1. Time Stitch 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing here except the plot. The characters and all things Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Twentieth Century, the Pope, and whoever else wants to claim them and actually receives royalties from them. That's not me, so... there ya go.  
  
Pairing: W/S of course. That's all I write.  
Rating: R  
Summary: Spike uses Willow to go back in time to avoid being implanted by the Initiative... has even one of Spike's plans ever gone right? They end up a little further back in time than he intended.  
  
Dedicated: To my beta, Claudia! She rules. Helped me work through a ton of stuff, caught things I'd read a hundred times and never noticed, and did the best thing of all, the easiest thing in the world to get a writer to write... she begged for more.  
  
PART 1  
  
Willow stared at Spike as if he'd asked her to marry him. A second later, she reacted the way she would if he *had*. She laughed. A lot.  
  
"Spike, you really expect me to do this? Are you insane?" She laughed even harder when he took a threatening step closer. "You're chipped, you can't hurt me, which means you also can't force me to do this, or anything else."  
  
His lips were pursed together in that oh-so-cute way, making his cheekbones even more prominent in his face. But they weren't pursed in a pout, no, he was simply grinding his jaw in anger. Something he'd had to do more often than not since the Initiative had gotten hold of him a few months back. Unless he wanted a raging headache... or perhaps a brain fry. Yep, he definitely had to keep his violent tendencies to a minimum, except when it came to other demons.  
  
Willow almost felt sorry for him, but not enough to do what he was asking her. There was no way she would purposely send him back in time to keep him from being chipped. After all, the first thing he'd done after escaping was try to kill her. No, she wouldn't willingly do it, and he couldn't force her *because* of the chip, therefore, she was safe from him.  
  
But she hadn't counted on his determination.  
  
His hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist, not enough to hurt her, just take her by surprise. His gaze bored into hers as he pulled her closer to him, until she had to tilt her head back to look at him. He was angry. Very angry. She was amazed at his control.  
  
"I may not be able to physically force you to do it, pet," he ground out, "but I can force you." He raised his voice, calling to someone she hadn't known was there. "Pete! Now would be good."  
  
Willow glanced nervously around the dark, empty warehouse, her gaze settling on a figure striding toward them. He was a tall, lithe, dark haired vampire with an evil air about him. That was laughable. What vampire didn't have an evil air about him?  
  
Well, this one just seemed to have more than his fair share.  
  
He looked like a serial killer, and he wasn't even vamped out yet. As he approached though, his demon face slid into place, and he grinned at her, his bloodlust obvious. He came up to her, and without ceremony, grabbed her from behind, holding her in place. Willow glared at Spike, not actually believing he'd allow this to happen, but when she saw the smirk on his lips and the gleam of anticipation in his eyes, she knew just how wrong she'd been.  
  
"Spike," she reasoned, "you really don't want to do this. You can't just--"  
  
"Bite her," Spike told Pete. "Bite her hard."  
  
Willow screamed as Pete's fangs sank into her neck, tearing at the tender flesh there. Her gaze remained locked on Spike's as her blood was taken from her, even minutes later, as she sagged to the ground, her legs no longer wanting to support her. Spike actually licked his lips as he watched Pete drink her blood. She closed her eyes in despair, knowing that this time there would be no help for her.  
  
  
  
Spike wanted so badly to rip Willow out of Pete's arms and drink her himself, but he didn't feel like dealing with the excruciating pain that would result. So he watched instead, watched carefully. Finally, he signaled Pete to stop, which Pete reluctantly did. He dropped her to the ground like so much refuse and Spike growled at him. Willow was the key to him getting the bloody chip out of his head, so if anything happened to her, his hopes were dead. After all, how many true witches did he know? One. Well, except for the blonde one... but she wasn't as powerful, or as fun to play with as Willow was. She'd probably pass out and be no good to him whatsoever.  
  
He picked Willow up and carried her over to a filthy mattress a few feet away and laid her on it, then stood back, watching her. Completely ignored was the fact that she was in the same state he'd just ridiculed her girlfriend for potentially being in.  
  
Pete followed him over and stood beside him. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sneered at Spike. "She's pure. Purest I've ever tasted."  
  
Spike barely held his temper in check at the contempt he saw in the younger vampire's face. Just as he was about to rip Pete's heart out of his chest, he realized the contempt was directed at Willow, not him. He sighed, forcing himself to calm down. Now was not the time to fly off the handle. As much as it pained him to admit it, he needed Pete.  
  
A small sigh from the makeshift bed drew Spike's attention and he knelt down, waiting for Willow to completely wake up.  
  
Willow opened her eyes slowly, feeling oddly lethargic. She yelped in surprise and scrambled back when she saw Spike's face inches from her own. "God, Spike. You know, giving me a heart attack will ruin all your wonderful little plans." She rolled her eyes when he chuckled. It was pretty obvious he was enjoying her moment of fear and panic.  
  
She sat up, her hand moving to her neck as he paced a few feet away. Her neck hurt like hell, and it was sticky with blood. The blood was running down her neck and into her shirt and bra. She mopped at it with her shirt, but it continued to run down. She stopped when she noticed both men watching her with amber eyes, demon faces firmly in place. She swallowed hard and put her hands demurely in her lap, wishing herself anywhere but there.  
  
"I can take care of that," Pete growled, kneeling down in front of her. Whether he was intending to lick at the blood or bite her again, Willow didn't know, nor did she want to find out, so she was actually grateful for Spike's violence when he grabbed the dark haired vampire by the collar of his shirt and threw him across the room with a snarl.  
  
"You'll touch her when I say, mate, not before," he spat at Pete, who was lying where Spike had thrown him, not making a move to get up. Willow saw the fear on Pete's face and silently thanked God for it.  
  
Spike strolled back over to where she cowered and pulled her roughly to her feet. "Don't think I won't let him hurt you if I need to, Red." He grinned wickedly and darted his head down, licking at her blood, from the top of her v-necked blouse, and back up to her neck. Willow tried to pull away, more repulsed by Spike now than in the two years she'd known him, but he held her by her arms. "You either let me do this, or I let him have another taste." He tossed a look over his shoulder at Pete who was watching closely.  
  
Spike leaned toward her conspiratorially and whispered, "I think he kinda likes you, his, uh, fangs, got enormous when he saw you."  
  
Willow's gaze followed Spike's and she shivered. "You're a pig, Spike," she snapped, but she allowed him to lick her neck, like the dog he was.  
  
"Oh, come on," he scoffed, "like you and dog-boy didn't engage in a little naughty licking every once in a while." She stiffened and tried to pull away, but again he wouldn't let her. "For shame, Red, what would your girlfriend think about you still having warm and fuzzy feelings for the warm and fuzzy boy? You know," he chuckled, "dog-boy probably sensed your penchant for girls and had to wonder why you were with him. Probably why he left."  
  
Willow glared at him, but said nothing. She knew he was just trying to get a rise out of her, and she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. She raised an eyebrow at him and looked pointedly at his mouth. His smirk slipped a bit as hers grew. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and looked at it, thinking he must have blood smeared on his mouth or something, but there was nothing. Hearing Pete's sneering laughter, Spike raised his fist. She closed her eyes in anticipation of the pain, and he halted the blow. After a few seconds, when nothing happened, she opened her eyes in surprise. As soon as she did, he backhanded her.  
  
They both reared back in pain. Willow recovered first, because the blow hadn't been full force. Spike spun around, holding his head.  
  
"Bloody hell!" he yelled in frustration. A second later, the pain still pulsating through his brain, he turned back to Willow and grabbed her arm. "This ends now. You'll do the spell, or I'll kill your girl-toy, pain or not." He shoved her down on the mattress and strode away. "Watch her," he barked to Pete. Just before he left the warehouse, he turned back. "Keep your hands off of her unless she tries to escape. But do not kill her." He walked out the door, slamming it shut behind  
him.  
  
Spike snarled at the clerk in the magic shop as she wished him a good day, and left the cramped store. His anger had lessened since leaving the warehouse, but he still felt like killing something. He refrained only because he had things to do, spells to cast, time to travel, and a past to change. He wished he didn't need the witch for the spell, it made things more complicated than they needed to be, but he did.  
  
The spell called for a witch, preferably a witch who bore his bite. He figured the more powerful the witch, the better tings would go, so, Willow it was. And if she didn't cooperate, he'd have her girlfriend killed. Never did like the blonde witch anyhow.  
  
He unlocked the warehouse door and went inside, locking the door behind him. As he approached, he knew something was wrong. He smelled blood. A lot of it. He ran to the mattress, and knelt beside Willow. She was alive, he could hear her heartbeat, still going strong, but she wasn't moving. Her breathing was haggard, raspy. He looked around quickly for Pete, then felt around with his senses. Pete wasn't there. Spike dropped the bag clutched tightly in his hand and reached out to Willow.  
  
"Red. Wake up," he ordered. She didn't move when he touched her, or react in any way to his voice. He touched her shoulder and rolled her toward him, cursing aloud when he saw the bruises forming on her face and neck. Her right eye was almost completely swollen shut, bruises lined the whole left side of her face and neck, and there were two new bite marks on her neck. One by her jaw on the left side, and another near her right shoulder. Her sleeve was torn, and covered in blood. Seeing his hope slipping away from him, he dropped her to the mattress and paced away, cursing.  
  
"Damn it! If you aren't already dead, Pete, I'll kill you myself. Slowly." He stalked back over to the mattress, kicking at a pile of dust in frustration. He took three steps back the other way, kicked another pile of dust, then turned and paced back again. It took him two more turns to realize he'd kicked two piles of dust. Two. Pete hadn't done this, or if he had, he'd had help. Needing to know what the hell had happened, he stomped over to Willow and picked her up, settling her on his lap.  
  
"Willow. Wake up." He slapped lightly on the only non-bruised portion of her face. "Come on, damn it. Wake the hell up."  
  
She stirred a bit and moaned. Her eyes fluttered open and she tried to scramble away from him. He held her tight, not letting her move. "What happened?" he snapped. "God damn it, why is it that everything I do gets screwed up? Usually by you and your damn friends. Well, not this time. This time *I* get what I want, not you. Got it?"  
She nodded fearfully, shrinking away from his anger. He forced himself to calm down, and allowed his face to slip back to its human visage.  
  
Calmer now, he tried again. "So, what the hell happened?"  
  
She swallowed and licked her lips, wincing when her tongue ran over the broken flesh. Her face clouded over, but her voice was strong when she spoke. "Three vampires snuck in and tried to take me with them. Your buddy killed them all, but not before, one of them grabbed him and held him down while the other two bit me." Her swollen mouth twisted bitterly, and she turned her accusing glare on him. She pushed against his chest, and he let her. He set her on the mattress and stood up, needing to get away from the intoxicating smell of her blood.  
  
Willow sat there, her face battered and bruised, her legs pulled up against her chest, her arms wrapped around them, her eyes shooting daggers at him, and Spike felt a twinge of guilt. A small twinge.  
  
"And then?" he asked impatiently.  
  
She looked at him silently for a minute. "I hold you responsible for this, and at the first opportunity, I plan on killing you."  
  
There was no guilt this time. "Little tip for you, Red, don't give your enemy anything except your hatred, and especially not a warning."  
  
She just glared at him, her good eye boring into his with a hatred he wasn't used to seeing anymore. "That's more like it," he enthused. "Did they rape you?" He sounded cold, uninterested, but inside, he was seething. How dare they do this to his property? And she *was* his property. The whole idea behind having Pete bite her was for him to be able to unknowingly bite her under the pretext of licking the blood left behind by Pete. Though he had thoroughly enjoyed that part as well. The little witch had damn tasty blood. Witch's blood, shot through with magick and purity. Not pure with virginity, but with goodness.  
  
Her eyes narrowed at him. "No," she shot back, "they didn't. They tried, but your boy wonder got free and killed them."  
  
"So where's Pete then?" His own eyes narrowed when she looked away before answering. She was lying, or at the very least, embellishing the truth.  
  
"He and the last vampire staked each other."  
  
Spike watched her for a second, debating on whether or not to pursue the truth. He decided against it for now. "Good, then we won't have any interruptions during the spell. Come here." His voice brooked no argument, and she was in no condition to disobey him. She stood shakily and went to him, but she was by no means subservient. She swung her arm back and slapped him. He saw it coming, but he didn't stop her, he let his eyes show his displeasure.  
  
She didn't shrink back as he'd expected her to do. She straightened her shoulders, barely wincing at the pain it caused, and waited. He was pleased. She knew who was in charge here, but she wasn't whimpering and cringing from him. Well, not too much, and that showed strength. He'd definitely made a good choice going with her rather than her girlfriend. He nodded his head toward the bag on the floor. She sat down again on the mattress, and opened the bag, pulling out each item one at a time.  
  
"Candles. Sea salt." Her face seemed to light up the tiniest bit with each item. Magick, apparently, was something she greatly enjoyed.  
  
He pulled out the folded up page he'd torn from one of Giles' spell books and tossed it at her, then leaned against the wall to smoke a cigarette.  
  
When the bag was empty, she unfolded the spell and read it over, looked through the bag again, then turned her eyes his way. "Where's the personal item?"  
  
He snapped his lighter shut with an echoing click, looking at her blankly.  
  
She sighed, pointing to the bottom of the page and holding it out for him to see. He squinted at the tiny writing, but couldn't read it from where he stood.  
  
She sighed again and rolled her eyes. "Didn't you even read through the spell? It's pretty difficult... I might not even be able to do it--" hearing his growl, she quickly added, "but I'll try."  
  
Mollified for the time being, he nodded, waiting for her to continue. "And?"  
  
"Um, difficult spells call for a personal item, something that belongs to you. Usually a piece of jewelry is used, something personal to that person, but it can actually be anything. It just has to have belonged to you since you're the one going."  
  
He took a deep drag off his cigarette, shaking his head casually. "Wrong, Red. You're coming too. See, I actually intend to come back, and since I need your blood to do the spell in the first place, I'm pretty sure I need it to get back as well. It's key." He watched her closely, relishing her reaction. She didn't disappoint.  
  
"What? No. I-- I can't. I have school," she reasoned. "And, Tara... and, um, no, 'cause see, I can't go... it just wouldn't be a good thing." She jumped up, pacing back and forth between him and the mattress.  
  
He inhaled deeply every time she passed him, the smell of blood growing tantalizingly closer with each step. She went on and on, trying to convince him not to take her with him. He remained silent. He wasn't even listening at this point. His control snapped when she swung by him a third time. He tossed his cigarette to the floor and grabbed her arm. A gentle tug on her wrist brought her to him and he ripped the sleeve of her blouse off. She screamed, yanking on her arm, trying to pull away, but he wouldn't let her. Not when he was this close to tasting her again. Her eyes widened when he lifted her arm and licked a trail to her shoulder. His own eyes closed in ecstasy.  
  
"Heaven," he mumbled. His mind was whispering to him, telling him to sink his teeth into her neck and end her life, to bathe in her blood, but his rational side fought it. He had no desire to lay on the ground for the rest of the night, screaming in pain. Once the immediate blood lust was satisfied, he looked at Willow. Her face was blank, her eyes fixed on a point over his shoulder somewhere. She was ignoring him. He chuckled darkly and raked his teeth over her shoulder.  
  
"Ignore me all you want, you're still going. Draw the circle, and light the candles. I'll figure out something to use for the item." He stalked away from her.  
  
  
  
Twenty minutes later, everything was set up and ready. They sat inside a circle of sea salt with four candles placed just inside the circle, marking the four directions, ready to be lit. The personal item was dangling from his left hand, and woven between the fingers of Willow's right hand. After she recited the spell, they would grasp hands, holding the necklace between them. Their other hands were also to be clasped, but for now she was avoiding touching him whenever possible.  
  
She raised an eyebrow at him, silently asking if he was ready. He gave her a 'what do you think?' look. She took a deep, steadying breath, lit the candle representing north, and started to recite the incantation. Spike only listened with half an ear, his thoughts were on the gold chain dangling from their hands. He didn't used to be a necklace person, but Dru had given it to him the night before the mob attacked them in Prague. After rolling his eyes at her offered present, he'd stuffed it into his duster pocket and forgotten about it. He was touched, but made a mental note to lose it after only wearing it long enough to show Dru his appreciation.  
  
The next night he almost lost her. She was broken and bleeding. Dying as he watched. His panic had never reached such heights as it did that night, and the days following. After carrying her to safety and forcing his way into a merchant's house, he'd laid her gently on the bed and killed the couple for her. Fed her like she'd later do for him while he was in the wheelchair.  
  
She'd smiled, so beautifully, always so beautifully, and kissed him softly. Her hand slid down his neck to touch his chest, and, finding it empty her big brown eyes swam with tears, and her lip trembled.  
  
Spike immediately took the necklace out and put it on, ignoring the blood still covering his hands, and her mouth. Her smile came back, wider than ever, and she kissed him deeply, whispering her thanks.  
  
He'd worn it ever since. It was a part of him, almost as much as Dru was.  
  
In Brazil, she'd ripped it off of his neck and thrown it at him, along with a few of her china dolls. Thrown them at him as she screamed and yelled. Something else was in his mind, she said, something besides her. He tried to assure her that she was the only important thing on his mind, but she'd shaken her head sadly, refusing to see the truth in his eyes, refusing to allow his love for her to warm them both.  
  
Spike ground his teeth together.  
  
Well, tonight he had the chance of getting Dru back. He'd get this thing out of his head, and she'd see he was just as evil as he'd always been.  
  
She'd take him back.  
  
Willow's warm hand interlaced with his, jerking him out of his reverie. He looked around him. The candles were all lit now, the circle of sea salt was shimmering slightly, and Willow was glowing as she recited the spell. He watched her sweat-slicked face, listened to her smooth, whispered tones, took note of her rapidly rising chest. Her eyes were closed in concentration, but she seemed to sense his gaze because she squeezed his hand warningly.  
  
He sighed, and tried to concentrate on the day he'd been highjacked by the Initiative. Willow had informed him of the importance of concentration as she poured the circle, noting that if he didn't concentrate all his energies on the right time then it was possible they'd travel to the wrong one, and since she didn't fancy traveling all over the map at different times with a vampire, then he should get it right the first time. Plus, once they got there, if they didn't change what he wanted to change, they wouldn't have another chance. It was impossible to travel more than once to a certain time period. Otherwise, what was to stop someone from going back and changing the past numerous times to achieve their own goals? This was a one-shot deal and he didn't want to screw it up.  
  
Her other hand intertwined with his as she chanted, and he felt energy flow into him from their joined hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blue light shoot out from Willow's body and encircle them. She was sweating heavily and shaking in exhaustion when her head suddenly shot back and her eyes whipped open. She fixed her now alien gaze on him and exhaled. A bright white light left her mouth and shot out in all directions, and then it went dark. 


	2. Time Stitch 2

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.  
  
PART 2  
  
Willow opened her eyes, only to be greeted by darkness. She knew the spell had worked, she'd felt it go through her and envelope Spike before collapsing. What she didn't know, was where they were. Shifting a tiny bit, she felt something itchy underneath her, and tried to move, but something heavy held her in place. Panic was very near the surface, and in fact was forcing her to shove blindly at the weight.  
  
A deep voice next to her ear whispered at her harshly. "Hold still, damn it. I'll move when it's safe."  
  
She opened her mouth to tell Spike she couldn't breathe, but he put his hand over the lower half of her face, practically smothering her in his attempt to keep her quiet. Extremely uncomfortable in the position she was in, she groaned and let her head drop to the ground. Wriggling to the left, she found, was no better than before, so she scooted to the right. Something sharp poked into her back tearing through the flesh by her hip. It forced a scream from her which was muffled by his hand. She bit it, hard, clamping her teeth onto the fleshy part of his palm, trying to hold in another scream.  
Spike, at the feel of her teeth on his hand, groaned silently. The little witch was driving him insane. All that damn wiggling underneath him had made him very aware of the soft female flesh underneath his. And now she was biting him.  
  
Vampire foreplay.  
  
He glared down at her in the gloom of the stable, but stopped the angry retort on his lips when he saw the tears in her eyes and the pain on her face. Okay, so, apparently something was wrong with her.  
  
He lifted himself up the smallest bit and saw the immediate relief on her face. Her mouth let go of his hand, and she begged him with her eyes to remove all of his weight. He did so, with a quick glance around to assure him they were alone now.  
  
He rolled off of her and sat up, looking around the stable. They were in a stall, filled with fresh straw and thankfully no horse. Since no sunlight was poking through the numerous gaps and chinks in the wooden structure, he knew it was night. The two men who'd come in just after he and Willow dropped in, had finally left.  
  
He'd been aware the whole trip, but he hadn't seen anything except the bright white light from Willow's mouth, then darkness, an almost interminable darkness. Finally, the light returned and he was staring at a straw strewn stable as they dropped to the ground.  
  
The building was empty of man and animal at the moment, which meant now was a good time to leave. Standing up, he reached his hand down to help Willow to her feet, but she didn't take it. He glanced down at her.  
  
She was in the middle of the stable, lying atop a blanket of clean straw, gasping, and trying desperately to catch her breath.  
  
"My back," she rasped out, trying to roll over to show him, but she wasn't able to move enough.  
  
He knelt down and looked her over, sucking in a breath when he saw the long piece of metal protruding from her back. Hell, she better not die, he needed her to get back. He knew his anger would only scare her, so he kept his tone light.  
  
"Bloody hell, pet, you'd do anything to get out of this, wouldn't you?" She didn't respond. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing even... she was unconscious. He reached underneath the straw and grabbed the offending weapon, sliding it quickly out of her back. He threw the pitchfork out of the stall, and bent down to pick her up. Her new three inch deep wound bled down his arm and he was reminded of just how much of the stuff she'd lost tonight. He was amazed she wasn't knocking on death's door for tea and crumpets.  
  
She whimpered slightly when he cradled her closer and stalked out of the stable, his boots crunching on the straw littering the filthy floor.  
  
He nearly dropped her when he got his first good look at his surroundings. "Bloody hell," he mumbled, as a horse drawn carriage passed in front of him. "Where the hell are we?"  
  
  
  
Spike glared at the bed again, placing all blame for this on the redhead's shoulders. She had brought them here.  
  
To bloody Ireland. To the bloody year seventeen fifty-three. It was all her bloody fault!  
  
He took another drag off his cigarette, reminding himself to enjoy it, since it was one of his last pre-rolled, good-tasting ones for who knew how long. He kicked his foot out petulantly, knocking over a small night table next to the bed, then continued on his way to the other side of the room. He'd been pacing for a good ten minutes now, waiting for Willow to wake up, and he was growing more impatient by the second. She'd been out for over an hour, mumbling in her sleep, calling out for the blonde witch. After the third time, he'd cruelly informed her that the witch was dead, just to get her to shut up.  
  
There wasn't a whole lot to do while he waited, except smoke and pace. He'd cleaned her wound as soon as he'd gotten her up to their room, and bandaged it as well. There wasn't much he could do about the bruises and swelling on her face though. But, they seemed to be healing pretty darn quickly on their own, already they were fading, faster than a vampire heals. Had to be a side effect of the spell.  
  
The inn keeper had blanched at the sight of the passed out girl in Spike's arms when he strode up to the desk, demanding a room. The fat-ass had seen her bruised and bloodied face, the bites on her neck and their odd clothing, but hadn't said anything. Spike was glad for that, they didn't need any trouble while they were here. And yet, when he didn't say anything, just cowered behind his safe little desk, Spike felt anger consume him on Willow's behalf. For all this guy knew, Spike was going to kill her, or already had.  
  
Spike kicked the table again, letting his gaze drift over to the small figure huddled under the covers on the bed. He drew in a breath upon smelling the blood practically permeating the room. He needed to get the hell out of there and feed.  
  
He shuddered uncharacteristically at the thought of finding a pig or something to drink from.  
  
Willow moaned and opened her eyes. Finally, Spike thought, stalking back over to the bed and sitting down. He waited for her to take in their surroundings before speaking. She looked at the wooden walls, the old furnishings, the lack of any electricity or plumbing, and the polished silver that was used as a mirror.  
  
He nodded. "Guess what, Witch. This isn't nineteen ninety-nine. Wanna take a wild guess as to when it is?" She shook her head, frightened at the anger in his voice. "Try seventeen fifty-three."  
  
"How?" she asked, her voice sounding tiny.  
  
"You bloody well tell me, pet. You're the one who had the power to take us where we needed to go. Just had to get a gander at the human Angel, didn't you? What is it with women and the wanker? Is it the brooding? The dark puppy dog eyes? 'Cause I gotta tell you, I don't see it. He's a killer, same as me, same as every other vampire out there." He flung his arm toward the shuttered window angrily. "And yet, all you women are drawn to him like a bloody moth to a bloody flame!"  
  
He stalked away from the bed, pissed at the world, pissed at the girl, but most of all, pissed at Angel. All of Spike's vampire life had been overshadowed by Angelus. He had Darla, he had Dru, he had every bloody thing first. Not that he wanted the stuck-up blonde bitch, but if he had wanted her, he wouldn't have had a chance in hell. If Spike even thought about taking someone or something for himself, Angelus had to get there first. And now, because of the poofter and his, 'oh pity me' crap, Spike was in the wrong place at the wrong time with the human version of Dru's sire out there.  
  
Willow sat up slowly, hissing in pain only for a second. Most of the pain was gone. She watched as Spike paced back and forth in front of the large bed, his face going through a myriad of emotions, most prominent being jealousy. Must be hard for him, she thought, to be in this time and place, so close to the vampire he hated more than any other. No, not vampire. Right now, Liam was a man. Human. She bit her lip as curiosity shot through her.  
  
He was right about one thing; she was curious to see the human Angel, but not because of any feelings she had for him. It was just morbid fascination. She hadn't ever harbored any kind of romantic feelings for the brooding vampire, even though he was gorgeous. Buffy herself had been rather skeptical when Willow told her she wasn't actively attracted to him, just passively appreciative.  
  
Spike stopped pacing, and sat back down on the bed. She shrugged at him, causing the blanket to fall to her lap. Feeling cold air on her previously fully clothed shoulders, she looked down in dread. "You undressed me?" she yelped, yanking the blanket back up to her shoulders. "What gave you the right to do anything to me while I was unconscious? God, did you feed off of me again too?" She peeked under the covers, thanking God that he hadn't completely stripped her.  
  
Spike raised an eyebrow at her. "Would you prefer I left your wound untended. I'm sure you wouldn't have gotten too badly infected from the stable floor, or the pitchfork I pulled out of your back." He glared down at her, unable to believe her modesty meant more to her than her health. "Penicillin's a long way off, love, and I can't afford to lose you."  
  
"Aw, I didn't know you cared," she bit out, then sighed. This wouldn't get them anywhere. They needed to work together to get this mess cleared up, and fix things, and if they were constantly at each other's throats, they wouldn't get anything accomplished. "Look, we're both stuck here. I don't know how or why, but we are, so... thank you. For bandaging my back and stuff." She smiled at him, asking for a truce. He just stared back at her. "And," she added, "I have no real desire to see Angel as a human. A little morbid curiosity perhaps, but not a burning need. He's a friend, that's all, I've never been attracted to him. Hello. Buffy's boyfriend, also..." she hooked a thumb at her chest, "gay."  
  
Spike accepted her answer, and her truce with a silent nod. Then his lips turned up slightly and he chuckled. "Gotta admit, I'm rather curious to see him as well. See if he was as much of a wanker human as he is now."  
  
"You don't know what he was like as a human?" She frowned in confusion. "But, you spent years with him and Darla. Didn't he ever mention his life as a human?"  
  
"Little snippets. I know he was a worthless drunk, but that's about it. Angelus wasn't deep into the details when it came to his human counterpart. I think he was as embarrassed as--" he stopped short, looking away.  
  
"As embarrassed as what?" she asked curiously.  
  
"Nothing," he told her, and that was the end of that. He wasn't going to elaborate.  
  
"Oh." She was still curious, but mostly she was grateful that he'd agreed not to drag this out any longer than need be. She looked at his profile, admiring his almost Grecian looks. Now, seeing William the Bloody was a different matter entirely. She wouldn't mind taking a peek or two at the human Spike; she was extremely curious about him. Angel had a soul, so she knew what he was like with one, but what about Spike?  
  
Nope, she wouldn't mind seeing him at all.  
  
Spike stood up suddenly, startling her. She jumped slightly, jarring her back, but there was none of the expected pain. She turned to look behind her at the wound, but couldn't quite see it, so she reached behind her. Her hand grazed the soft cloth covering the hole in her back and she lifted up one edge. There was still no pain. Brow furrowed, she pulled the cloth off and dropped it to the bed.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
She tossed him a look over her shoulder, having forgotten him in her struggle to see the wound. His eyes were glowing yellow and were fixed on her neck. She only spared him a quick glance before kneeling on the bed and turning her back toward him, holding the sheet to her chest. "Is there even anything there? There's no pain."  
  
Spike's eyes roamed over her nearly naked back. "No," he ground out. "There's nothing there except blood." He didn't sound at all interested in the mystery of her missing wound, he just growled and stalked as far away from her as he could get without leaving the room. And then he did leave. "I've gotta eat," he said curtly, slamming the door behind him.  
  
Willow sat down in the middle of the bed, the sheet still clutched to her chest, and stared after him in confusion. "Well," she said lamely, "was it something I said?" 


	3. Time Stitch 3

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.  
  
PART 3  
  
Spike walked unhurriedly through the city streets, his boots ringing loudly on the cobblestones. His immediate need to feed had left when he'd fled their room and the aroma of fresh blood. He was currently searching for a suitable meal with his vampiric senses, while his mind wandered, occupied by an idea that had been forming ever since he'd asked the inn keeper where and when they were. He'd tried shoving the thought away, but it refused to be relegated to the back of his mind.  
  
His need and love for her were still too strong.  
  
To be able to see Drusilla before she was made, before Angelus drove her insane, while she was still warm and innocent, was something he'd dreamed of too many times to count. And now he had the chance. All he had to do was convince the witch. Not because he needed her permission, but she'd had a point when she said they should work together. He figured if he included her in decisions and plans, then she'd be less likely to bitch and gripe.  
  
His head snapped up, his eyes glowing in the darkness. An evil grin graced his lips for a moment before turning down into a scowl.  
  
Bloody hell!  
  
Of all the vampires in town that he could feed off of it had to be her. He turned down the alley directly in front of him and stood in the shadows, watching her drain a dark haired man.  
  
Angelus, he thought, before realizing the victim wasn't him. Darla dropped the man at her feet and delicately wiped the corners of her mouth before sauntering further into the alley. Spike watched in fascination. This was his great grandsire. He could probably kill her right now. Not that he would. He'd be committing suicide if he did, but the thought itself was extremely exciting.  
  
He moved forward quietly, intent on drinking whatever was left of the man, when he heard a gasp behind him. He spun around, in full demon face, and watched as the woman--looked like a hooker--slid to the street, out cold. He grimaced, knowing she'd seen him and his odd clothes. She'd be able to identify him. Bracing himself for an extreme amount of pain, he picked her up and held her to him, sinking his teeth into her neck.  
  
A howl of elation echoed through the small town of Galway as a demon drank of his victim without pain, for the first time in months.  
  
  
  
After Spike left the room, Willow climbed out of the huge bed and tried to examine her back in the barely reflective surface of the mirror. What she saw, or rather, didn't see, amazed her. There was hardly anything there, except a small scar. She examined her face and neck and found them barely bruised, and the swelling nearly gone. She had three faint scars where she'd been bitten, but other than that, she was practically healed, and she felt great too, just tired.  
  
She put on what was left of her shirt, which was balled up on the dresser.  
  
Maybe she was, like, superwoman now, because of the spell. Maybe it gave her extra healing powers, just in case she was injured. A fail safe? So that she could return unharmed? Hmm, she thought, pretty nifty if she was right.  
  
She shrugged, resolving to ask Spike about it when he returned. On the other hand, maybe she shouldn't. Did she really want Spike to know that she had extra healing powers, leaving him open to biting her whenever he wanted to? Um, no. Her, and her extra healing would remain a secret.  
  
In the meantime, she set about examining their room. Uh-oh. Their room? Was he going to sleep in the same room as her while they were here? Which, hopefully, wouldn't be for too long. As soon as she got some rest, she wanted to do the spell again, and hope like heck they ended up a lot closer to their intended target. Spending quality time with Spike wasn't something she really wanted to do.  
  
She glanced back at the bed, big reason number two for not staying long, number one being Spike killing her. Well, it was certainly large enough to fit the two of them... and then some. Still, she didn't exactly fancy lying in bed with a soulless demon all night, neutered or not. She forced herself to move on to the rest of the room, ignoring all thoughts of a naked Spike.  
  
There was a nightstand on either side of the bed-- oh, there's that damn bed again. One of the nightstands was laying broken on the floor slightly away from the... sleeping furniture. She rolled her eyes at herself. After everything Spike had done to her, sex hadn't ever entered into it, forced or not. So why was she so wigged about it now?  
  
"Moving on," she mumbled.  
  
There was a scarred, cherry wood wardrobe in the corner, the dresser with the mirror on it, and a wingback chair by the door that faced the bed. Not much else graced the room aside from a few paintings on the walls.  
  
She headed for the window, opening the shutters with ease just as a distant howl sounded, sobering her like nothing else could have except maybe a profusely bleeding neck wound. She peered through the darkness, trying to see what, or who, it was, but all that was out there, were empty streets. More frightened than she cared to admit, she closed the shutters tightly and climbed into bed.  
  
Settling down on the slightly lumpy mattress was easier said than done. She moved this way and that, rolled over a few times, then finally flopped on her back and pulled the covers up to her chin. When something dropped to her face, she nearly screamed before she realized it was the bandage she'd pulled off her back. She held the square of cloth in front of her face. It was black cotton, and looked oddly familiar. There was only a small bit of blood on it, not as much as there should have been from the wound she'd received, and a familiar smell. She sniffed it before she'd even realized what she was doing.  
  
"Ew," she said, automatically, but it didn't smell like blood. In fact, it smelled like-- Spike. Of course. It was part of his T-Shirt. Duh. He only wore the damn thing every day. How could she have missed it?  
  
"Um... you didn't expect a soulless vampire to rip up his own shirt to make a bandage for you?" Said vampire burst into the room at that moment, a grin on his face and a bounce in his step. Willow clutched the scrap of cloth in her hand and sat up in bed. "Spike."  
  
His grin widened. "Willow."  
  
She propped the pillows behind her back, and leaned against the headboard, watching him warily. He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet a few times before dropping into the chair, running his hands through his hair.  
  
"Um, did you hear that howl?" she asked, trying to ease a little of her discomfort.  
  
"What howl?" he asked, eyes questioning.  
  
She frowned. "A few minutes ago. Long, scary-type howling, fear-inducing howling? How could you not have heard it with your vampiric senses and stuff? Has the chip dulled your instincts?"  
  
He smirked at her, and she had a feeling he was playing with her. Uncomfortably, the thought came to her that he was acting not unlike a cat with a mouse would. She shifted slightly.  
  
He nodded. "Oh, yeah, that howl. Sure, I heard it."  
  
She waited for an explanation, but he remained silent. She sighed loudly. "What was it?"  
  
He shrugged, and got up. "Me."  
  
Surely she hadn't heard him right. He'd been the howler? "You? Why you? What happened? Did someone attack you?" She sat up anxiously.  
  
He picked up the ewer on the dresser and poured water into the matching ceramic bowl, then stripped off his shirt. When he turned slightly to toss his shirt on the chair, Willow caught a glimpse of his pale, muscular chest, nice and lean and inviting to the touch. She looked quickly away, telling herself she'd only looked to make sure he wasn't hurt.  
  
"Spike?"  
  
"Hmm?" he asked, splashing his face with the water from the bowl. He stared into the mirror at her. She dared another look at him, crinkling her nose at the eerie feeling of being watched by a non-reflecting being.  
  
"Why were you howling?"  
  
He shrugged again. "No reason."  
  
She blinked at him. "Do vampires often howl for no reason in particular? I-- I mean, um... well, do they?"  
  
He chuckled. "No."  
  
Well, obviously he didn't want to explain his reasoning to her, and that was just fine. She harrumphed a few times as she pulled the pillows out from behind her head and laid down, then fluffed them. She rolled over on her side, scooted nearly to the edge of the bed, and closed her eyes.  
  
Spike watched her, nearly laughing out loud from the angry noises she was making. He blew out the oil lamps and sat down on the opposite edge of the bed from her, pulling off his boots. His started to pull his pants off, then grinned, knowing she'd probably go into shock if she knew how close she'd come to sleeping with a naked vampire.  
  
He stayed on his side of the bed, lacing his hands behind his head. "You know," he said, "if you keep up all that noise over there, the neighbors will have no trouble believing we're on our honeymoon."  
  
She gasped loudly and stiffened, and Spike couldn't hold in his laughter. He was in a great mood, practically giddy, in fact. He had his bite back! He'd howled his joy for the world to know, not caring who heard him. Plenty of people had heard him, vampires too, he knew, but they stayed away, apparently not wanting to challenge him.  
  
Spike wasn't about to tell Willow though, at least not yet. She was already nervous enough around him. Hell, every time he got near her, her heart raced in fear. If he told her he was chip-less, she'd probably have a heart attack. Then he'd never get back home.  
  
She finally relaxed after an hour or so and fell asleep. Spike was just drifting off to sleep himself when she rolled over and snuggled up next to him. Now it was his turn to go absolutely still, sure that she was about to realize where she was and hasten herself back over to the edge of the bed, but she stayed where she was. She even moved closer, wrapping an arm around his stomach, and resting her head on his chest. He eventually relaxed himself, and fell asleep, wrapping his own arm around her shoulders.  
  
  
  
Spike took a drag off of his cigarette and glared at the redhead sitting across the table from him. She alternated between picking at her food and glaring at him as well. He blew smoke directly at her, laughing when she coughed a few times, and stared pointedly at him.  
  
"Do you mind?" she asked. "Oh, wait, of course you don't. Giving a human lung cancer is probably right at the top of your list of tortures. You know, since you're so... um, impotent."  
  
"Well, I try," he said modestly, not at all offended, though that was obviously her intention.  
  
Robbed of her fun, she raised a scornful eyebrow at him. "Are you ever gonna tell me where the money came from?"  
  
He chuckled, finding the disgruntled look on her face very amusing. Her completely healed face. She'd told him earlier that it was a side effect of the time travel spell. Lucky for her, otherwise she might be a little dead right now, due to the hole no longer in her back from the pitchfork.  
  
She sighed again, still glaring at him. He knew she had her suspicions about where he'd gotten the money, but he wasn't giving anything away. "No. I'm not."  
  
"Fine." She pushed her plate away from her and stood up. "I'm going for a walk." She yanked his duster out from under her foot and stomped out of the pub.  
  
Spike followed her with a sigh, staying a few paces behind her as she walked aimlessly through the nearly empty streets. She looked ridiculous in his coat, but it covered her pants and his T-Shirt. Her own blouse had only one sleeve, and was covered in blood, so it was out of the question. There was nothing he could do about her red pants though, hence the duster.  
  
Tomorrow she was going shopping, to get them both some new clothes from the modiste's, but until then, she needed to remain covered while in public.  
  
He found himself feeling rather naked without the heavy leather coat. His hands wanted to dive deep into the pockets and fish out a cigarette even though they weren't in there anymore. They were currently in his back pocket, but he missed the familiar action and odd comfort he got from wearing the duster. He also felt weird without his T-Shirt. All he had on was the red shirt he usually wore over the tee, and it was buttoned up, something he never did. He liked layers, but hated to be encumbered.  
  
Willow disappeared down an alley, so he picked up his pace with a sigh. She was keeping as much distance between them as she could without being stupid enough to go off on her own. It was obvious she was pissed at him, and he knew why. The money thing. Or rather, how he'd acquired the money.  
  
He'd woken up just after nightfall to find himself wrapped up in Willow. One of her legs was nestled in between his, and the rest of her was strewn across his chest. One hand was on his stomach, the other underneath his back. She was all warmth and sweet smelling blood. As a demon, he'd wanted to drink her, but held back, enjoying the feel of her heart beating against his chest. It was a nice feeling. He reached his hand out and caressed her hair.  
  
She sighed, and whispered, "Tara," then snuggled even closer.  
  
Spike's hand halted and he glared down at her. The blonde witch again. He didn't understand why Willow was with her. She was... kind of creepy. She had those intense eyes, and she was always staring at him, making him feel like an insect, and he hated it, hated her. So when Willow whispered her name, he did what he'd done the night before.  
  
He leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Tara's dead, Willow. She's dead. I killed her. Drank her dry."  
  
Willow whimpered slightly and rolled away from him, still asleep. She had nightmares after that and he watched her as he got dressed, thoroughly enjoying the results of his whispered words. She called out to Tara a few times, even yelled at Spike to stay away from her. He left the room when she bolted upright, drenched in sweat.  
  
He sighed again. Or maybe she was brassed off because he had told her in no uncertain terms that they were staying longer than he'd anticipated. Much longer.  
  
Willow glared back at the vampire following her. She really hated him. Why did he have to be such a... vampire? They had come to an understanding, hadn't they? A truce?  
  
Apparently not.  
  
She knew there was more to the money thing than he'd said. Found it on the street, my butt. She had an awful feeling that he'd killed someone and robbed their dead body. If she was right, then he'd gotten his bite back, and he could now kill her if he wanted to. It made sense. She'd gotten extra healing powers, and he'd gotten healed as well. No more chip. She'd fished around for answers during dinner, but he hadn't taken the bait.  
  
She sighed deeply, hating Spike for having kidnapped her once again. Gonna get a complex if this keeps up, she thought. Am I, like, extremely kidnap-able or something?  
  
A noise from the far end of the alleyway snapped her head up. She peered into the darkness, trying to see through the gloom, but couldn't see more than a few feet in front of her. Pulling Spike's duster tighter about her, she headed deeper into the alley.  
  
As she neared the other side, she heard more noises that sounded almost like... snoring? A hand touched her shoulder making her jump nearly out of her skin. "Son of a--"  
  
"Stay here," Spike whispered in her ear, then moved forward, disappearing into the gloom.  
  
Willow was hard put to stay still after that scare. Her heart was beating to a whole new drummer at the moment, and that drummer wasn't playing fair with the double-time beat. And, yes, now that she could hear past her own heartbeat, that was definitely snoring she was hearing. Spike's laughter floated back to her, and, her curiosity getting the better of her, she followed him.  
  
"Oh, my God. It's Angelus." She backed away from him even though he was asleep on the ground, his loud, drunken snores echoing throughout the alleyway.  
  
Spike, still laughing, put a hand on her shoulder again, halting her. "No, pet. That," he stressed, "is Liam. Absolutely human. Absolutely drunk."  
  
"You're sure?" she asked, looking from him to Angel.  
  
"Definitely. He has a heartbeat."  
  
Her own heartbeat slowed down dramatically at his assurance and she took a step closer to Angel. No, Liam. He looked exactly as he did in her time except his hair was longer, kind of flying about his face. He gave a drunken snort and swatted at something they couldn't see.  
  
Willow practically bent over double with laughter. "This," she asked, motioning toward Liam, "is one half of the scourge of Europe?"  
  
Spike's laughter joined hers. "This is nothin', love, his drunken debauchery didn't end with his life. Looks rather pathetic, doesn't he?"  
  
"Maybe we should, I don't know, take him home or something? Make sure he gets there safe?"  
  
Spike snorted. "He gets home safe tonight. Tomorrow night he gets Darla. Or rather, she gets him."  
  
Willow sobered up, remembering where she was and who she was with. "Right. I forgot," she said flatly. She took one last look at the human Angel and walked away.  
  
She didn't see Spike kick out with his booted foot and connect with Liam's midsection. Liam's eyes opened, and he groaned, curling up into a ball, his eyes on the strange couple walking away from him. 


	4. Time Stitch 4

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.  
  
PART 4  
  
Spike once again woke up just after sunset, with Willow once again wrapped around him. He extricated himself from her arms and legs, and settled her beside him before sitting up. His cigarettes were on the night stand beside him, ready to slide off the broken surface at the least provocation, he ignored them and moved to the window. The moon was just starting to rise over the buildings, it's yellowed surface casting a false color on everything in its path.  
  
Darla was out there somewhere. So was Liam. He wasn't exactly sure on the time, but he knew it would happen close to dawn. Something inside him wanted to be there to see it happen, but he was determined to resist. He and Willow may have already changed time just by being there, not to mention having run into both of them on separate occasions. He wasn't about to risk it again.  
  
Willow stirred in the bed, drawing his attention. She lay curled up on her side, facing away from him, her forehead furrowed. She seemed to be having another nightmare, though not because of him this time. As he turned back to the window, a flash of blue in the wardrobe caught his eye. He went over and opened the door. Two period style gowns hung inside, one blue, one brown. Figures, he thought. Even now, when women's styles were rather flashy and daring, Willow chose to be mousy. Though the blue one wasn't as bad as all that. Still, he imagined it was very properly cut, or had a heavy shawl to go over it.  
  
His own clothes, he assumed, were in the dresser. He quietly opened a few drawers, finding two pairs of breeches, two waistcoats, and two ruffled shirts. He quickly dressed in the white breeches, one of the ruffled shirts and the blue brocade waistcoat. He snarled at the stockings he was forced to wear underneath the breeches. The black buckle shoes were even worse. At the first opportunity, he was going to find himself a nice pair of Hessians.  
  
Debating on whether or not to go out hunting, he lit a cigarette. If he went now, he'd reduce the risk of running into Angel and Darla later. Liam would be busy getting drunk, and Darla was most likely out feeding. Feeling anxious, he left the room, heading out into the darkened streets. Having his biting ability back was rather like falling off the wagon. He wanted to feed as often and as much as he could. He wanted to overindulge, and he had been.  
  
Besides, they needed more money.  
  
His wanderings brought him to a house on the outskirts of town. It was a quaint little cottage with--he concentrated-- four people inside. Two adults and two children. He was starving for both blood and sport, and hungry for a thrill and some excitement. He started up the walk when he heard someone behind him. He spun around, and came face to face with Angelus.  
  
Spike stepped back, keeping to the shadows. This wasn't Angelus, it was Liam. The human sized up the vampire with a glare.  
  
"I knew I'd run into you sooner or later," Liam said angrily. "I think this belongs to you." He swung a fist at Spike, which was easily dodged by the vampire. Liam tried again with his other fist, and then a leg when that one missed its mark as well.  
  
After his initial surprise, Spike avoided Liam's punches, and grabbed his leg as he kicked it out. Spike yanked up on the leg, throwing Liam off balance. Liam tumbled to the ground, landing hard. "What's your bloody problem?" Spike snarled, still in the shadows.  
  
Liam jumped up, angrier than before. "You were in the alley last night with your whore, havin' a grand ole time laughin' it up and kickin' me in the ribs." His soft Irish brogue grew more pronounced with each word. "I've been waitin' for you, so I could repay you in kind."  
  
"Never gonna happen," Spike told him. "And she's not my whore, she's my wife." He hoped he sounded angry enough. Probably did, because he was angry. The bastard had no right to call Willow his whore. If he needed a whore, she'd be a hell of a lot more... well, frankly, she wouldn't be Willow. "Don't you have some drinking to do, Angel?" Spike's jaw tightened when he realized what he'd said. He groaned silently at the fury in Liam's eyes. This time when the younger man swung, Spike let the blow land.  
  
"The name's Liam, and you'd do well to remember it, you white-haired bastard." He surreptitiously rubbed his sore hand and glared at spike.  
  
Spike had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. Angelus had always been brutal, cruel, and mean. As a human, he was just... amusing. Not the least bit threatening. Sure, he'd seen Spike's face somewhat, and had definitely gotten a gander at his bleached hair, but Spike figured that by the time they ran into each other again a hundred and thirty years in the future, Angelus would have forgotten their current encounter.  
  
  
  
Willow snuck a look at Spike. He looked extremely handsome in the clothes she'd bought earlier that day, but she so wasn't used to seeing him in anything other than his usual black jeans, black T-Shirt, red button down shirt and leather duster. When she'd gone to the shop that afternoon, she'd had strict instructions from Spike to get him full breeches, not the half breeches that were in fashion now. She hadn't known the first thing about choosing clothes, so she'd been happy to have somewhere to start. It was all rather confusing.  
  
She'd gotten two outfits for the both of them, having been extremely lucky in finding someone else's leftovers. They'd been made for someone who had never picked them up. So Willow bought them. One gown was a plain tan with half sleeves that ended in white lace. The collar was a little lower than she was used to, but it wasn't anywhere near as bad as the leather bustier her vamp double had worn.  
  
The modiste had tried to lace Willow into a corset, but Willow wouldn't let the woman near her with one of those torture devices. She knew the damage they could do and she wasn't about to put herself in one. The dress fit her perfectly without the corset, and would hang off of her if she wore a corset, so she refused the nice modiste. The other dress was similar in design, the only real difference being the color. It was sky blue, with tiny white pearls lining the bodice. She rather liked the blue one. She could get used to dressing like this, especially if they were going to be here as long as Spike intended.  
  
Spike himself had on white breeches, a blue brocade waistcoat with a white ruffled shirt underneath, and Willow had never seen him look more gorgeous. The other outfit consisted of tan breeches, a white ruffled shirt, and a black waistcoat. His clothes and her gowns obviously had been made to match, and she secretly thought they looked pretty cool together.  
  
She'd dressed in the blue gown as soon as she woke up from her nap. She was slightly disappointed that Spike hadn't even noticed her change in clothes, but she knew why. Angelus was to be made tonight.   
  
Spike was anxious, and on edge. He'd been pacing for over an hour now, and smoking like a chimney. She got up from the chair, her skirts swishing around her ankles, and went to the open window, breathing in the smokeless night air.  
  
"Why don't you go already?" she wondered aloud.  
  
"Go where?" he asked distractedly.  
  
"To watch. Angelus is being made tonight. How many vampires get to witness their own creation, in a way?" She turned from the window, watching him. He stopped pacing and flopped in the chair.  
  
"It's not for a few hours yet. And I haven't decided whether I want to go or not," he conceded. "I don't actually fancy seeing the poof, but it could be interesting."  
  
"Sure you do," she told him matter-of-factly. "Fancy seeing the poof-- um, Angel, I mean. This is the Angelus you knew and loved, not the one from Sunnydale. He's your sire, your lover, your--"  
  
Spike shot out of his chair so fast Willow barely saw him move. He stalked over to her and grabbed her by the arms. "You finish that sentence, Red, and I'm going to have to politely rip your throat out, and ruin your pretty new dress. Where the bloody hell did you get the idea that we were ever lovers? Hello! Does a century with Dru ring any bells?"  
  
Willow swallowed nervously, not even trying to pull out of his grasp. She'd been right, the chip was inactive, because his grip was so tight she knew she'd have bruises in a little while... unless they disappeared before they showed up. She wondered how that worked. He was glaring at her with such anger that she figured he'd snap and kill her if she made any sudden moves, so she stayed where she was and tried to calm her racing heart.  
  
"Um, I-- I don't know. I just assumed, we all... assumed, because you're demons, and um..." she trailed off, knowing she was just making it worse. His hands tightened on her arms for a second before he pushed her away.  
  
"You and that damn gang of misfits all think that me and the poof..." he shuddered, scowling at her. "That's just... incredibly disgusting. I mean, not that it's bad if you're into that sort of thing. Wait a second, I'm a vampire, I don't have to be politically correct, I stand by my first statement." He sat back down in the chair. "And Dru's my sire, not poof-boy."  
  
"Dru?" she asked, startled. "But I thought-- Giles said that Angel was you sire, and... what about what you told Angel on parent-teacher night? That Angel was your sire, your Yoda." He raised a brow at her. "Oh, um, Xander told me. He was the one Angel decided to use as bait."  
  
Spike laughed, remembering that night. It was the first time he'd seen Angelus in nearly a hundred years, and he'd been quite surprised. "I remember, the moron thought he was about to die, and all he could do was say, 'I knew it was all an act' to Angel. The boy's got no priorities."  
  
Willow ignored his jibes at Xander. "So Dru's really your sire? Not Angel?" She thought about this, and realized that they knew next to nothing about Spike, a.k.a. William the Bloody. "So that means you're not as old as we thought you were." She looked at him accusingly. "How old *are* you?"  
  
"Not as old as you think I am," he chuckled. "Why?"  
  
"Because I'm curious." He gave her a dubious look. "Okay, you tell me some of your background and I'll regale you with stories of Sunnydale."  
  
He looked less than impressed with her offer. "Why would I care what happened in Sunny D? No deal."  
  
She thought for a second. "How about I tell you about... um..." she couldn't think of anything at first, but then she remembered, "Oh, ooo! The other Willow."  
  
He tossed her a skeptical look, not at all ready to believe her. "Other Willow? Is this a joke? What, like you've got an evil twin out there somewhere?"  
  
"Yep. So? Deal, or no deal?" He nodded after a minute and she grinned. "Okay. You first." She sat down on the bed and rested her back against the headboard.  
  
Spike lit a cigarette, one of his last, and settled back in the chair. "How I Was Sired, by Spike. London, 1880. I ran into Dru, and she made me. There you go. Your turn."  
  
Willow grinned and shook her head. "I don't think so. I'm gonna need a few more details than that. Why did she make you? Where were you when it happened? What was your family like? Did you have a family?"  
  
"Of course I had a family, Witch. Wasn't an orphan if that's what you're thinking. Had a mother, a father, the whole package."  
  
"Oh. Darn. I mean, not darn that you had parents, but darn because I lost a bet."  
  
"You had a bet going on me?" That was laughable, little witch woman had running bets. He didn't think she had it in her.  
  
"Yep. Me and Tara. She said you had a family, I said you were an orphan."  
  
Tara again. Damn, could he not get away from the damn creep? Spike scowled at her. "I'd appreciate it if you and Witch number two didn't make a habit out of discussing me."  
  
She nodded agreeably. "Okay. Sorry."  
  
"Anyhow, I was at a society party, got bored, went out for some fresh air and ran into Dru, Angelus, and Darla. Dru followed me, asked if I wanted to join her. I said yes. She made me, end of story."  
  
"Okay, fine. An alternate universe me was made a vampire, she came to our world, we sent her back." She grinned at him. "You give me more, I'll give you more."  
  
He grinned, enjoying the game. It took his mind off of Darla and Angel, and the events that were going to take place in a few hours. "Okay. Let's see. I got the railroad Spike idea from an aristocrat at the party. Said he'd rather have a railroad Spike driven through his skull than listen to my-- uh, someone's poetry. Or something. So I obliged him." He looked away, not sure why the hell he was telling her this. Luckily she hadn't caught his slip-up. The last thing he needed was for Willow to know--and then run and tell the gang--that he'd been a bloody awful poet.  
  
"My turn," she muttered, looking up at the ceiling in thought. "Um. All right. See, Xander and I had this thing. Uh, for each other. But, I was dating Oz, and Xander was dating Cordelia."  
  
Spike rolled his eyes. "You and the moron? That's just sick, Red."  
  
Willow tossed one of the pillows at him. "You wanna hear this or not?"  
  
Spike caught the pillow inches from his face, and set it on his lap. "Okay, okay, just get on with it. And preferably leave out the Xander bits."  
  
"Hey. No comments from the peanut gallery. I have to mention the Xander bits, they're part of the story, duh. Now, where was I?" she asked, pretending to think on it. Seeing his impatient look, she nodded with a grin. "Um, oh, right. Xander and I were trying to keep away from each other. See, I'd always had a thing for him. Pretty much since forever."  
  
Spike made a show of rolling his eyes and sticking his finger down his throat, until she finally got the hint and skipped over the nauseating parts.  
  
"Anyway, I decided to do a de-lusting spell one night, because things were just getting worse, and neither of us wanted to hurt Oz and Cordelia."  
  
"Thank God there wasn't any shagging. Don't think I could've handled that." She glared at him, and he waved his hand imperiously at her. "Continue."  
  
Another pillow flew across the room at him. He put it behind his head and relaxed.  
  
She went on, watching him pointedly. "So, just as I was about to do the spell, a vampire broke into the room and knocked Xander out."  
  
Spike's eyes narrowed. Something about what she'd said sounded familiar, but he wasn't sure why.  
  
"Yup, just knocked him right out, and dragged us with him to this burnt out old factory." She was near grinning now, watching him for any reaction, and he still wasn't sure why. When he remained quiet, she went on. "He was drunk. Turns out his girlfriend had left him, and he wanted me to do a--"  
  
Spike started laughing. "Love spell to get her back. I remember, but what's that got to do with a vamp you?"  
  
"Well," she said slyly, "I had to show you how it was all your fault."  
  
"My fault?" he snorted. "Not likely."  
  
She sat forward eagerly, obviously dying to tell the rest of her story. "Oh, but it is. 'Kay, see, you kidnapped me and Xander. Ever wonder what happened after you left us there? How we were found?"  
  
He shrugged. "I told the slayer and her puppy where you were."  
  
Her eyes widened, and she laughed delightedly. "Puppy? That's funny, 'cause... well, I'll get to that in a minute. Buffy and Angel didn't find us. Oz and Cordy did. Oz followed my scent, and they rushed to our rescue, only to find us making out on the bed."  
  
"Didn't think you had it in you, Red. Cheating on dogboy?" He made a disgusted face. "I'll refrain from grossing out on *who* you cheated with."  
  
"Yeah," she said, looking sad, and regretful, completely ignoring his last comment. "Neither did I. Anyway, Cordy freaked out and ran, fell through the stairs and landed on a rebar. She never forgave us. Oz did... eventually."  
  
Spike sat back with a yawn. "Still waiting for the part where it's my fault."  
  
"I'm getting there, hold your horses. So, Cordy gets out of the hospital, and her first day back at school she meets this girl who tries to get Cordy to take vengeance on Xander. She does... only, she somehow blames everything on Buffy."  
  
Spike furrowed his brow. "How the hell did she come up with that?"  
  
Willow rolled her eyes. "Please, you do it all the time. You blame everything on Buffy. Dru leaving you, the chip, heck, you probably even blame her for us being here right now. It's a nice scapegoat. She's the slayer, therefore, she's to blame for everything that goes wrong."  
  
Spike had to admit she was right. He did tend to blame things on Buffy. But it was fun, besides, he couldn't admit to being wrong, it just wasn't in his nature. "Okay, so she blamed the slayer, and then what?"  
  
"She wished that Buffy had never come to Sunnydale. Anya granted her wish."  
  
"Anya? Demon girl?" He grinned, rubbing his hands together. "All right, now we're talking. So what happened? The Master must have risen. Wonder if I was there to kill the Anointed One, or if someone else did it."  
  
"I don't know about the Anointed One, but, yeah, the Master did rise. In fact, Xander and I were his favorites. Your turn."  
  
"What? Oh, no. No, no, no, no. You finish yours first." He sounded like a petulant child, but he didn't care. He was rather anxious to hear about Willow as a vampire. He wondered what she was like. Was she still shy and sweet, or did the demon take complete control of her and erase all the 'Willowness' from her personality?  
  
"Tit for tat, Spike. Ya gotta give a little to get a little." It was beginning to get chilly, so she went to the window and shut it, then leaned against the wooden shutters, wrapping her arms around herself.  
  
Spike watched her, admiring the picture she made. She was beautiful, always had been, but in her blue gown, she was breathtaking. He wasn't about to let her know that however, the last thing he needed was an infatuated teenager hanging all over him.  
  
"Well?" she prodded.  
  
"Where'd I leave off?" he asked her.  
  
She crossed her arms over her chest. "Basically, Dru made you and some lord or something gave you the idea for railroad spikes. Details, vague-boy, gimme details."  
  
He chuckled at the impatience in her voice and on her face. She looked about ready to pounce on him to beat the information out of him. He cleared his throat, purposely taking his time. "Let's see. Dru made me, covered that. Got the Spike idea from Lord Smithee, the bastard. Ah, here we go." In his best Bela Lugosi accent, he said, "I tried to be the best creature of the night that I possibly could."  
  
She chuckled and rolled her eyes at him. "Oh, brother."  
  
"Family always came first with me," he continued in his normal voice. "So, I made them a priority."  
  
Her laughter stopped and she went sort of pale, looking rather nauseous all of a sudden.  
  
"Oh, no, pet. Don't you go getting sick now, you wanted details, I'm giving you details. Killed my mother first. She was always rather smothering. Didn't know a boy's gotta go off on his own sometime. My father... well, he was a great guy, so I let him live. Funny thing was, I didn't realize what a great bloke he was while I was alive. Mum's fault I guess."  
  
Willow sat down on the bed, still pale, but looking considerably better. "Those kinds of details I can handle. I thought you were going to get all gory."  
  
"Nah. For some reason humans tend to frown down on that." He laughed at the sarcastic look on her face. "Need more?"  
  
"Yes, please," she answered, sounding all prim and proper, sitting there with her hands in her lap.  
  
"So the four of us cut a bloody swath through blah, blah, blah. You know, I don't think Angelus and I ever liked each other much. He taught me everything I needed to know, but we just clashed way too much. He didn't like the way I did things, I didn't like the way he did things. He was low key, I was--"  
  
"Cocky? Arrogant?" Willow asked innocently. There was a twinkle in her eyes and he had to laugh.  
  
"Yeah. Pretty much. Especially after I found out about the Slayer. Wanted to find me one and kill her."  
  
Willow nodded. "You killed two of them, right?"  
  
"Yeah. Took twenty bleedin' years. Felt like an eternity. The four of us had split up for a bit, but we met up again in China. Hadn't seen Angelus for over a year. Didn't know it at the time, but it was because he was souled. Sure, he was acting all weird and stuff, but we had no idea. Well, me and Dru didn't. Darla knew."  
  
Willow looked at him oddly. "Neither you or Drusilla knew Angel had his soul? Isn't she, like, psychic or something?"  
  
"Not psychic exactly. She has visions, but half the crap she babbles about is just that, crap." He glanced at her when he heard her skirts rustling and was surprised to see her sitting forward, staring at him with a sappy look on her face. "What?" he demanded.  
  
"You. You get this... this look on your face whenever you talk about Drusilla. It's sweet. You still love her. Which is weird, since, vampires aren't supposed to love, but you do."  
  
She was right, he did still love Dru, probably always would. "We can love. In fact, I'd say we love better than humans do. Certainly longer than humans do. Your turn."  
  
"Wait, the slayer. Finish that, then I'll go." She pouted and batted her eyelashes shamelessly.  
  
He sighed explosively, not the least bit angry. "Oh, all right. I found the slayer in China during the Boxer Rebellion in nineteen hundred. Angelus was with us again, acting bloody strange, real quiet-like, you know? But, like I said, we had no idea why. Anyway, I cornered the Slayer near a temple. Fires were raging all around us, people were screaming and running for their lives." He paused, drawing in a deep breath in remembrance. "It was-- when we fought, it was just... perfect. All blood and swords, and fists and fangs. The others were off somewhere, feeding or torturing, I couldn't have cared less. Had me a slayer." He ran his thumb over his scarred eyebrow. "She gave me this. She was pretty handy with a sword, but I was better." When he glanced over at Willow, he found her staring at him intently, completely engrossed in his story-telling. "Slayer's blood's a heady experience," he said softly. "Get a taste of slayer, get a taste of heaven. Supposed to be an aphrodisiac. Don't know if it's the blood that does it or the thrill and excitement of killing your mortal enemy, but I needed another taste. Took over seventy years. Your turn."  
  
"Um, how-- how'd you kill her? I mean, with her sword, a stake? Break her neck?" Her voice was shaking, and Spike could tell she wasn't as okay with this as she was pretending to be.  
  
"Bit her. Drained her. Go." He was giving her an out. Giving her something else to think about, because she looked about ready to cry.  
  
Willow looked away from Spike, knowing that if she didn't, she would either break down crying, or throw up.  
  
"Me. Right. Um, where was I?" she asked, grateful for the respite.  
  
"You and Xander were the Master's favorites," he reminded her.  
  
"Right. Again, I'm getting ahead of myself. See we didn't even know about this world until months later. Cordy was sent to this alternate universe and killed. Giles saved the day and Anyanka was defeated. We only found out about it later because Anya asked me to do a spell with her to find her necklace, a necklace that held all her power. She told me it was an heirloom." Willow laughed harshly. "Naive little Willow comes through again. We did the spell and instead of her necklace coming through, I was pulled through... or rather, Vamp Willow was.  
  
"Anya did all this and you lot still like her? Xander's dating her?" He shook his head, probably wondering why they would accept Anya but not him.  
  
"I don't like her, I tolerate her. And Xander can date whoever he wants to. She's completely human now, so she can't hurt us or anything."  
  
"Yeah, right," he muttered, shaking his head. "Keep going." He waved his hand angrily.  
  
"So vamp Willow came through the portal into our world, and boy, I can tell you, she caused quite a bit of trouble. She beat up Percy." At his blank look, she explained. "He was an athlete that Principal Snyder insisted I 'help'. Which Percy took to mean I do his homework while he goes out and parties. Well, Alterna me showed him. Threw him across a pool table."  
  
Spike chuckled at the unrestrained glee on her face. "Go, Red."  
  
"Xander saw her and freaked out, you know, 'cause of the Percy-throwing, and the clothes. She was sort of fond of the leather look. Leather corset, leather pants, and-- and boots." Seeing his narrowed eyes fastened on her, Willow bit her lip and carefully avoided looking at him again, knowing he was probably trying to picture her in leather. She wasn't like that, her vampire counterpart was, not her. "Um, anyway, she and Xander were together in their world, and she remembered him being killed, and was quite happy to see him alive again. Only, he was a little more alive than she liked. Also, she, um, s-- seemed to have this liking for me... in an icky licking kind of way. Her hands were constantly in places they shouldn't be... naughty places."  
  
Spike chuckled deeply, no trace of what he was thinking showing on his face. In fact, his face was kind of blank, except for the amused part. "Leather and naughty touching plus licking. Sounds like a great date. What did this paragon of non-virtue do, besides beat up people who were mean to you?"  
  
Willow rolled her eyes and sat back against the headboard, pulling her legs underneath her. Her skirts tangled around her legs, and it took her a good minute to untangle them. With a frustrated sigh, she leaned her head back against the wall. "Took over the Bronze, and, um, set herself up as leader of the local vamps."  
  
Spike was looking at her with new respect, and she had to fight to keep the grin off her face. Wouldn't do to show how much his respect meant to her. Not that it did mean anything to her. Right.  
  
"We found out about the plan to munch on the local teens and I got to play vampire for a while, complete with leather corset. The vamps with her, of course figured out I wasn't a vampire, and the plan fell apart, but it turned out okay. Buffy wanted to stake her, but... I don't know, I felt kinda sorry for her. She was alone in a strange world, everything she knew was taken from her, I just--" A pillow smacked her in the chest and she glared at the vampire responsible before putting the pillow behind her back.  
  
"Leave it to you to feel sorry for a vampire." Spike stood up, stretching. The other pillow she'd thrown at him joined the first on the bed and he followed it, getting comfortable.  
  
She shrugged. "Only a Me vampire. You don't see me taking pity on you, do you?"  
  
"And you bloody well better not," he tossed back, "I don't need your pity, or your sympathy."  
  
Willow sighed, frustrated. They seemed to always be at each other's throats all the time. It was getting exhausting. As usual, she would just pretend he hadn't sniped at her. "You want to hear this or not? I haven't even gotten to Puppy yet." She grinned at him, delighting in his-- but, hey, he wasn't confused. He wasn't even paying attention.  
  
"Sure," he said with a yawn, "whatever." He leaned back, closing his eyes.  
  
She glared at him, resisting the urge to smack him on the arm. "I asked Buffy and Giles if I could talk to her, you know, alone, and they agreed, albeit reluctantly." Willow glared at him some more. He definitely wasn't paying attention anymore. At least, she didn't think he was. She leaned down next to his ear, and whispered, "She told me that... in her world, they have people in chains, and you can ride 'em like ponies."  
  
Spike's eyes snapped open as her warm breath fanned across his cheek. Her words registered a few seconds later, and he turned his head toward her. She was grinning like a fool, so proud of herself for getting a reaction out of him. "Where's the fun in that? No hunting? No prey? Might as well brown bag it like the poof."  
  
"Angel," she said with a small smile. "He was there too, in her world. Had a soul..." she trailed off, leaving him hanging.  
  
He rolled his eyes at her dramatics. "And?" he drawled.  
  
"And she kept him chained up in a cage in the basement. He was 'Puppy'. She used him for... uh, you know." Oh-so brave there, Willow, she silently admonished herself. Used him for 'you know'? What was she? Ten? "Sex," she proclaimed, unnecessarily. "She used him for sex."  
  
Spike started laughing, and couldn't seem to stop. "You dominated Angelus? Oh, that is priceless," he gasped out. "Does he know?"  
  
Amused by Spike's reaction, Willow simply shook her head.  
  
"Looks like a trip to L.A. is in order once we get back," he chuckled.  
  
Willow nodded eagerly. "Or..." she said excitedly, "or we could *not* tell him, huh?"  
  
Spike patted her cheek softly as if to say, 'Nice try, kid'. "Not a chance, pet." He sighed heavily, a grin still on his lips. "I'm gonna go eat. Stay here," he warned her, getting up and throwing on his duster.  
  
"But, things'll be weird between us if you tell him," she grumbled. "He'll probably think I'm skanky or something."  
  
Spike paused in the doorway. "Skanky, Red? Not likely. Pure, innocent, untainted, maybe. But not skanky." And with that, he left the room, shutting the door behind him. 


	5. Time Stitch 5

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.  
  
PART 5  
  
Willow snuck a peek around the corner, making sure Spike was still there. He was a half a block away, leaning against a brick-faced building, smoking a cigarette. His attention was focused on a woman across the street that Willow was pretty sure was Darla. Small, blonde, beautiful... kind of Buffy-esque actually. Willow had only seen her once, and she'd been a little distracted with finding out vampires were real and trying not to become one.  
  
Darla strolled down the street with a confidence few human women possessed during this time period, her skirts swishing from side to side. Willow found herself envying the diminutive vampire.  
  
A scraping noise from Spike's direction grabbed her attention, and she carefully poked her head around the corner again. Panic flared when she didn't see him. A second later, she saw a flash of black disappear down the alley across the street where Darla had gone. Willow counted to twenty, then followed. She darted across the street, and ducked into the alley, feeling like Sherlock Holmes. She flattened herself against the brick wall-- a lumpy brick wall that was moving!  
  
She shoved herself away from the wall, and screamed. A hand snaked around her mouth, cutting off her scream, and another one encircled her waist, hauling her back against a hard male chest. She struggled against her captor with a vengeance, kicking and hitting whatever she could reach, which wasn't much. Her screams for Spike were muffled, but desperate. If she could be heard through sheer determination, she would be, unfortunately, she couldn't. The hand around her waist jerked her backwards, a warning for silence.  
  
She went limp, hoping her captor would be surprised and let her go long enough for her to get away. He wasn't surprised. His hold only tightened, so she bit his hand. There was a muffled curse from the man holding her, but she barely heard it. She screamed for Spike as loud as she could, hoping he was still close enough to hear her. A hand slapped against her mouth again, and Willow renewed her struggles. Her scream was still echoing down the dark alley when a voice spoke near her ear.  
  
"Hush now, lass, I'll not hurt you."  
  
Willow went absolutely still. The voice was familiar, and the hold he had on her brought back memories of a time when he'd held her captive in a similar fashion. Angelus. Oh, God. What did he want with her? Had he already been turned? No, he was human. His hand and breath were warm, his heart was beating against her back.  
  
"You'll keep quiet if I remove my hand?" Willow nodded emphatically, and he moved his hand down to her waist.  
  
"What-- what do you want?" Willow asked him, trying to remember everything she knew about the human Angel. He'd been a philanderer, a libertine... often drinking away his nights, and sleeping away his days. She sincerely hoped they hadn't forgotten more important things, like being a killer. Or rapist. Or both. A shudder escaped her, and her mouth went dry.  
  
Liam whispered in her ear again, and this time she could smell alcohol. "That man you're shackin' up with, he's your husband?"  
  
Willow nodded again. "Yes, he is. My husband, yes."  
  
There was a tsk-ing sound behind her. "Pity, that." She was let go and swung around quickly. Her back hit the wall and her teeth clacked together painfully. Liam stood in front of her, shaking his head regretfully. "He's a right bastard, that one, and a womanizer to boot." He watched her closely, but Willow wasn't sure what he was looking for. "He finds himself a new woman nightly. Takes them to dark alleys such as this one, and has his wicked way with them."  
  
Willow remained silent, knowing Liam was trying to get a rise out of her for some reason. She held her disgust in check, knowing Spike was feeding off of the women Liam thought he was sleeping with. He very well might be sleeping with them for all she knew, but she didn't care about that. He wasn't really her husband, and she had no feelings for him, so he could sleep with any woman he wanted to. Or man if he cared to. It had nothing to do with her.  
  
"I don't know what you mean, sir." Play the innocent, and maybe he'd let her go. Why did he care what Spike did? Was he afraid of Spike taking away his women? His Don Juan reputation? She held back a giggle.  
  
Liam shook his head. "You do know. That's why you're out here, following him. Do you not trust your husband, Red?"  
  
"Don't call me that." Red was one of Spike's nicknames for her, and it just sounded wrong coming from someone else. She sighed, and stared up at Angel; her friend, Buffy's love... but all she could see was Angelus.  
  
He raised his hand to her cheek, and ran his finger along her jaw. "Maybe we should give him something to be jealous about--"  
  
Willow batted his hand from her face and shoved away from the wall, turning back to face him. "I don't think so, Angel. No way, absolutely not."  
  
Liam's eyes narrowed, and his lips turned down in a frown. "The name is Liam."  
  
"I'm sorry, I-- you look like someone I know back home, in America-- I mean the New World. His name is Angel, I got confused. Sorry," she trailed off miserably. Giles' voice was chastising her in her mind. He would probably have a fit if he knew she was changing history. But he'd never know. Would he?  
  
"Angel," a new voice said softly, "the face of an Angel, the mind and body of a killer. I like it."  
  
Willow moved closer to Angel, feeling safer with him than with his soon to be sire. She looked around quickly, wondering where Spike was, and if she could run without being seen. Fat chance. She stood as far behind Angel as she could, and watched Darla size him up.  
  
A lazy smile turned up the corners of Darla's mouth as she strolled closer, her beautiful gown swishing around her ankles. Willow felt like an alley cat standing before a regal lioness.  
  
"I was on my way out of this dreadfully boring town when I ran into a fellow creature of the night," Darla told them conversationally, her small, girlish voice echoing through the alley. "He asked me if I wanted a companion... someone to while away the long hours with. He offered me you," she told Angel, stopping directly in front of him.  
  
Angel, having been too busy staring at Darla's breasts which were near popping out of her bodice, finally understood her. "Creature of the night?"  
  
Willow rolled her eyes. What was with the melodrama? Shrugging, she watched as Liam trailed his eyes over Darla, Willow completely forgotten behind him.  
  
"Which was a good thing," Darla continued, ignoring Angel's question. "I'd have killed him before spending any time with him." She shivered delicately. "He didn't appeal to me at all, this William."  
  
Willow's eyebrows rose sky high. William? Spike? Spike didn't appeal to Darla? Hello! Was the woman blind? Oh, and please, like Darla could actually take out Spike. Uh-huh. And then Darla's words sunk in. Spike offered Liam up to Darla... why? Why not let things progress normally? She would have to have a long talk with Spike about the consequences of changing the future.  
  
Just as soon as she lectured herself on those same points.  
  
"It's been too long since I've had a companion," Darla was saying. "I'm lonely."  
  
"In that case," Liam drawled, "I'd offer myself as escort to protect you from harm and to while away the dull hours."  
  
"You're very gracious," Darla told him, as if she hadn't already made her decision. As if Liam had a say in it.  
  
"Hmm. It's often been said," Liam agreed.  
  
Willow took a few steps back while they were occupied with each other, hoping to escape unnoticed.  
  
"Are you certain you're up to the challenge?" Darla asked coyly.  
  
Liam was so taken by this point, that he wouldn't have been able to say no if he wanted to. "M'lady, you'll find that... with the exception of an honest day's work, there's no challenge I'm not prepared to face."  
  
Willow pressed her back against the wall, and took a few more steps away from the couple in the middle of the dark alley. She looked up quickly when Liam fell silent, sure she'd been spotted. Nope, he was just looking into Darla's eyes, trying to seduce the seducer. Willow felt like she should care more that a human was about to die, but knowing everything that would happen down the line, she knew it had to happen.  
  
"Oh... but you're a pretty thing. Where are you from?"  
  
Darla smiled at him, and Willow thought it a rather predatory smile, though it was meant to be teasing. "Around. Everywhere."  
  
"I've never been anywhere myself. Always wanted to see the world, but..."  
  
"I could show you," Darla offered eagerly.  
  
"Could you, then?" Liam smiled at Darla, obviously thinking he was the one leading her on, not having a clue that he was being led to the slaughter.  
  
"Things you've never seen, never even heard of."  
  
There's that melodrama again, Willow thought, tossing a quick look over her shoulder. She was almost free. Just a few more feet to the entrance of the alley.  
  
"Sounds exciting."  
  
"It is," she agreed. "And frightening."  
  
"I'm not afraid," Liam said, and Willow knew he wasn't. "Show me. Show me your world."  
  
Darla closed her eyes, and bid him to do the same.  
  
Willow slipped out of sight of the couple and turned to run... straight into a male body... again. Damn it! She was about to push herself away when she was jerked roughly around.  
  
"Hold still, Willow."  
  
It was Spike. Oh, joy! He dragged her back to the alley entrance and grabbed her jaw, forcing her to watch Liam and Darla.  
  
She'd never seen a vampire being made, and she had to admit to a certain curiosity, but she would rather have the choice. She opened her mouth to tell him off, when his hand tightened on her jaw.  
  
"Watch," he ground out.  
  
Darla put her hand on Liam's shoulder, letting her face turn. She smiled and growled, opening her mouth wide as she leaned down to bite him. Liam stiffened, gasping. From pain or blood loss, Willow wasn't sure, but when he sank to his knees, Darla followed him down, then let go. She stood up straight, lifting her hand to her chest, and drew a fingernail across the flesh. Blood trickled out. She grabbed Liam by the back of the neck and pulled him in to the cut, forcing him to drink her blood. He wrapped his arms around her and drank.  
  
Willow, considerably paler and more nauseous than she'd been before, shoved against Spike's hold. He let her go and she ran back to their room.  
  
  
  
Spike tiredly rubbed his face as he watched Willow disappear into the inn. What had the bint been doing out here in the first place? Humans were just as dangerous in this time as vampires were. Had she lied when she told him she'd never been attracted to Angel? Had she wanted to see him so badly that she'd disregarded her own safety just to get a gander?  
  
No, that didn't make sense. When they'd seen Liam passed out in the alley, she hadn't seemed too attached, or curious. Still, she wouldn't be the first one. Most women seemed to fall for the wanker. Didn't matter, Willow would not be one of them. She could damn well keep her affections to herself. He left the alley behind without a backward glance.  
  
Inside the inn, he went straight to the bar, ordering a pint of ale. While he waited for the barkeep to fill his mug, he took a look around. A familiar redhead at a corner table caught his eye and he cursed. Willow. Was she getting drunk? Admittedly, seeing a human die by the hand of a vampire and then be forced to become the very thing that had killed them wasn't a nice experience. But... oh, well, she'd get over it.  
  
He grabbed his ale and joined her in the corner. "What's a nice witch like you doing in a time period like this?" he asked with a few sleazy looks at her cleavage, which was rather... ample, of late.  
  
She turned angry eyes his way. "You're a bastard."  
  
Spike sat in the chair opposite her, leaning his elbows on the table. "Yeah, and don't you forget it." He took a long drink, used to the bitter taste after a few days here. "Why were you out there? You could've been killed."  
  
"I didn't know you cared," she sneered.  
  
He slammed his mug down on the table. "I don't. You're my way home, unless I fancy living out the next two hundred and fifty years. Which I don't, 'cause mostly? Been there, done that."  
  
"Poor thing," she bit out, "would you be inconvenienced? Try getting kidnapped, and being forced to participate in a spell that takes you away from everyone and everything you know."  
  
"You'd better keep out of harms way," he said warningly.  
  
She rolled her eyes and snorted, downing the last of her ale. "You just told me to keep myself safe, or else. Or else what, Spike? You'll *kill* me?"  
  
Spike calmly drank the rest of his ale, then stood up, grabbing her hand as he passed her. She yelped and tried to pull her hand free, but he didn't let go. He pulled her upstairs, ignoring the barkeep's smirk. He quickly unlocked the door to their room, and shoved her inside. She fell to the floor, landing on her butt, and sat there glaring at him.  
  
"Bastard," she hissed, climbing unsteadily to her feet.  
  
"You're getting repetitive, Red." He stalked over to her, and yanked her up. "You want to know how I intend to punish you?"  
  
He spun her around, so her back was to him, and lifted her hair off of her neck. He vamped out and sank his teeth into her neck. She screamed, struggling against him. Spike paid her no heed as he drank the heady mixture of blood and magick. Soon, her screams turned to whimpers, then to silence. Fearing he'd taken too much, he pulled away from her, and was quite surprised when she didn't fall bonelessly to the scarred wooden floor. Instead, she stood absolutely still.  
  
Spike wiped his mouth on his hand before turning her around to face him. Her eyes were closed, hands fisted at her sides, anger radiating off of her. Spike almost took a step back.  
  
"Get out."  
  
He snorted at her. "Not likely."  
  
She turned around without a word, opened one of the drawers in the dresser and pulled out a stake. Holding it high, she stalked back over to him. "Get--"  
  
Spike reached out and grabbed the stake from her, tossing it out the window. "What the hell were you doing with that? Planning on killing me, Red? And why on earth didn't you take it with you earlier? Bloody hell, you're supposed to be the smart one, but so far, all I've seen is your stupidity."  
  
All the anger seemed to leave her as she sat on the bed, shoulders slumped. "I was following you. Curiosity is a human trait too, you know. I figured I'd be safe if I stayed by you, then you disappeared down that alley, and Angel grabbed me, and I couldn't scream because he covered my mouth with his hand, and--"  
  
"What?" Spike ground out. "Did he hurt you?" Hell, he'd been going on the assumption of her accosting Angel, not the other way around. If Angel had hurt her...  
  
"No. Just brought back a few bad memories. And tattled on you."  
  
"About what?" What could Liam possibly have on him that would interest Willow?  
  
"Your nightly feeding, though he thought they were trysts, and since he thinks we're married, he thought it his duty to tell me that you're a womanizer." She laughed slightly, the sound almost hysterical. "Little did he know you were killing them, not... other things."  
  
"I haven't killed anyone. Not since our first night here."  
  
She tossed him an incredulous look. "Yeah, right."  
  
"Drawing undue attention in a small town in Ireland and causing a mob to lynch me is not something I look forward to. I can be discreet when I want to." He took off his duster, and tossed it on the back of the chair before sitting down to remove his boots. "Bastard taught me that, if nothin' else."  
  
"Well... good," she said, obviously at a loss, then switched subjects. "Why did you make me watch?"  
  
Spike shrugged. "For fun?" She didn't need to know the real reason. He'd been showing her what might've happened to her if he hadn't found her there. But that might imply that he cared.  
  
She reached up to touch the already healing bite mark on her neck. "Fair warning. I intend to drink at least one glass of holy water a day from now on, at different times. Bite at your own risk." She stood up and grabbed his black T-Shirt out of the dresser, and glared at him. Spike sighed and turned around, removing most of his own clothes before climbing into bed.  
  
Time for another night of Willow wrapped around him while she slept. Another night of being so close to her magick filled blood, blood he'd just reacquainted himself with, and not being able to touch it. Or her. Not that he wanted to touch her. Not that he didn't want to touch her. But--  
  
Willow cleared her throat, thankfully interrupting his thoughts. Her bare legs, as always, looked so enticing. He often found himself tangling his own legs with hers while she slept. She never knew. She woke up every day completely unaware of some of the positions she placed herself in during the night. Spike, on the other hand, was uncomfortably aware of all of them. And right now, after having tasted her again, he found other parts of him wanting her.  
  
Gotta be the ale, he thought, rolling away from her. 


	6. Time Stitch 6

Disclaimer: I own nothing here except the plot. The characters and all things Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Twentieth Century, the Pope, and whoever else wants to claim them and actually receives royalties from them. That's not me, so... there ya go.  
  
Pairing: W/S of course. That's all I write.  
Rating: R  
Summary: Spike uses Willow to go back in time to avoid being implanted by the Initiative... has even one of Spike's plans ever gone right? They end up a little further back in time than he intended.  
  
Dedicated: To my beta, Claudia! She rules. Helped me work through a ton of stuff, caught things I'd read a hundred times and never noticed, and did the best thing of all, the easiest thing in the world to get a writer to write... she begged for more.  
  
  
  
PART 6  
  
Willow strode slowly along the cobblestone street, her destination just ahead, her mind years ahead. She missed her friends, her girlfriend, her parents, Sunnydale... even her dorm room. Basically, if it was from her time, she missed it. Chocolate. Oh, and soda. Coffee was what they had here. And tea, not to mention ale, and that was all well and good, but she really missed the fast foods and drinks from her time.  
  
Oh, to have a nice big juicy, greasy cheeseburger again. With fries. And a shake. If the world were a perfect place, she'd be on her way to McDonald's right now. But it wasn't, so she wasn't.  
  
Opening one of the heavy wooden doors, she took a deep breath and went inside. Immediately she was assaulted by the heat and silence of the church. Dark wooden pews lined either side of her, and seemed to be a recurring theme. The whole building was dark wood, the walls, floor, ceiling, pretty much everything. Stained glass windows, not too detailed, not too gaudy like some she'd seen. Tall gold candlesticks were placed here and there, and at the altar was the obligatory Jesus on the cross.  
  
Spotting what she needed, she quickly stepped over to it and filled the small vial she'd brought with her. The water didn't look too clean, it certainly didn't invite her to drink it, but she would. Um, later. Maybe she could boil it, or something. Would that take the 'holy' out of the holy water? Water during these times was seriously gross, she was lucky if it wasn't brown. This holy water was only slightly yellow... but, hey, maybe it was the gold bowl it was in.  
  
She capped the vial and held the bottle up to the candles beside her. Nope, not just the bowl. "Yuck," she whispered, nearly jumping at the sound of her own voice.  
  
"May I help you, lass?" a hushed voice inquired from behind her.  
  
This time she did jump, slapping her free hand over her heart to calm its sudden erratic beat. "God, you scared me. Um," seeing a thunderous frown appear on the priest's face, she amended her words, "I mean, goodness, Father, you frightened me." Simpering smile, act like a brainless twit, it was easy.  
  
He smiled condescendingly, as she knew he would, and even went so far as to pat her back like a child. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to startle you. I'm Father Ian McNeil." His kindly old face made her want to smile, despite her anger.  
  
Telling herself that it wasn't his fault, that it was just the time he happened to be born in, she smiled even wider, hiding the vial of holy water in her hand. "That's all right, Father." Casting a look around her, she laced her hands behind her back. "This is a beautiful church." If she was lucky, he wouldn't notice the holy water, and she wouldn't have to explain why she was taking some.  
  
"It is, isn't it?" a childish voice commented sweetly. The two of them turned toward the front of the church, toward the young woman kneeling at the altar, lighting a candle.  
  
Willow knew the voice, had hoped never to hear it again, or see the petite blonde woman it belonged to again. She was a vampire, what was she doing in a church? Especially during the day?  
  
"Ah, Darla." Father McNeil smiled widely and started up the aisle.  
  
Willow, thinking fast, rushed over and grabbed his arm, halting his progress toward the evil vampire... who was currently in game face, and yet still smiling sweetly over Father McNeil's shoulder. "Wait," Willow told him. "Um, I-- uh," she dropped her hand from his arm at his pointed look, and bit her lip. What the heck was she supposed to do now? "I need some marital advice. My husband is..." dropping her eyes to the floor, she faked a sniffle. "I think he has a mistress, Father."  
  
Father McNeil patted her shoulder kindly, and motioned for her to sit at one of the pews. "I'll be right with you. Darla?" He turned to find Darla right beside them, watching with a small smirk, which seemed to only be noticeable to Willow.  
  
She stepped between Willow and Father McNeil, trailing her hand along the top of the pew in front of them. "Don't you know she's evil, Father?"  
  
Willow tried to stand up, but Darla pushed her back down. "Run," Willow told the priest. Fighting the panic that was eating at her insides, she fumbled for her cross necklace. "Go outside, in the sun. Please," she begged him, but he didn't move.  
  
He shook his head, and reached out a hand to Darla. "Careful," he chastised her. "Now, what's this about evil?"  
  
"It's simple," Darla explained. "She's a witch." She turned her innocent eyes on the priest, and perched primly on the edge of the pew beside Willow. "She's come here to kill you, Father."  
  
Unable to find her cross, the same cross she carried with her at all times, Willow jumped up and grabbed the priest's hand, trying to drag him with her toward the doors, but he resisted her efforts. "Please, just come outside with me, I'll explain everything there."  
  
"It's all right," he assured Willow, "we're safe here." He gestured to the church around them. "Whatever it is you fear cannot get us here. This is a house of God."  
  
"That may be," she muttered, once again dragging him toward the front doors, "but sometimes evil things hide behind perfectly innocent looking faces. And if we don't get out of here, right now," she insisted, "we'll both die, so come on."  
  
He sighed heavily, finally giving in and following her outside. "Would you mind telling me what this is all about?"  
  
A few safe yards away from the entrance, Willow nodded toward the doors where Darla stood just inside, peering out at them from the gloom of the interior. "Look, Father. Look at her face."  
  
He did so, gasping and stepping back as Darla hissed at them. "What-- what is it? Her face is... she's--"  
  
"Father, don't let her whisper evil things to you," Darla called out to them, letting her face change back. "She's bewitching you. Whatever you think you see isn't real. It's witchcraft." And then she grinned, laughing evilly, and flying--actually flying--out the door, straight at them.  
  
Willow screamed, and pushed Father McNeil out of the way, then-- woke up with a start, groaning miserably. Damn it. The nightmare again. Night after night of the same nightmare was starting to wear on her nerves. If she got any sleep at all, what with Spike coming and going at all hours, she was lucky if she got an hour without a nightmare. Yay. Stifling a yawn, she decided to give up on trying to sleep for a while. She uncurled herself from Spike and climbed out of bed, dressing quietly.  
  
  
  
The bright sun shining through the trees was warm, beautiful, and so completely bugging Willow. Sitting in the grass just outside town had been a great idea. She'd taken a blanket and herself, and nothing else. It was a chance to relax, and read a book, not to mention get something she'd been lacking for a few weeks.  
  
Sun.  
  
She'd spent so many nights out, and so many days in, that she was starting to look like a vampire. Spike had more color to his skin than she did. So she'd walked a mile or so just outside of town, leaving behind the noise, the smell of horses and other livestock, and... um, the people who didn't know that water was their friend. Which pretty much described everyone except her and Spike.  
  
The innkeeper still gave them weird looks when they requested water brought up for bathing. Spike usually left the water for her to use and bathed in the stream near where she was at that very moment. She never went with him since he had to do it in the dark, and she preferred not to have an animal, human-shaped or not, attack her while she was her most vulnerable, thank you very much. Not to mention the weirdness of Spike being naked just a few feet away.  
  
Their days had become routine. A week passed, and then another as she searched for the reason behind the spell screw-up. So far, she'd found not a damn thing. Galway had few books in their one and only book shop, and none on magick at all, so she used a spell she'd learned just before Spike witch-napped her, and conjured the books for a short time. Hanging suspended in the air in front of her at the moment was one of those books, and the sun was shining directly down on it, keeping her from seeing the tiny printed words on the glaringly bright page.  
  
After turning her head this way and that, standing to throw her shadow over the book, and just plain making a fool out of herself for anyone to see, she sighed heavily and checked her watch. It was time to head back to town anyway. It was late, getting later by the second, and both Darla and Angelus were still out there, which was probably why she kept having nightmares about them. She'd thought they'd split town as soon as Angelus woke up, but, nope. They were sticking around. As were her and Spike. At least until she found a way to guarantee their next trip. Which wasn't happening.  
  
Spike was ticked at her slow progress, but he refused to participate in the spell until he knew they'd show up in the right place and time.  
  
"Finis," she said on a yawn, climbing to her feet as the book disappeared in a flash of light. She grabbed the blanket and shook it out, watching absently as grass, dirt, and leaves went flying. Her mind was busy trying to think of another book to check, but she was quickly running out of options. She couldn't for the life of her figure out what went wrong. As far as she could tell, it wasn't something she'd done wrong.  
  
She made her way back home, which is how she now thought of their room, and opted not to go upstairs yet. She headed into the pub, sitting at the empty bar in the empty room. The barkeep looked up from his meal as she sat, but continued to shovel food into his mouth.  
  
"Ah, good evenin', wee one," he said with a nod, his soft brogue bringing a smile to her face. She just loved that accent, even if it was coming from a big, greasy, burly guy with only a tuft of hair ringing the back of his mostly bald head.  
  
"Evening, Sean. Um, the usual, please. When you're finished." A mug of ale, lamb stew and a hunk of bread was her usual dinner, and, as he always did, Sean stopped eating his own dinner to dish up hers. She smiled gratefully. "Thanks."  
  
"Not a problem, lass." He pointed to her blanket with his spoon. "Meeting your husband here?" He looked around briefly for Spike, before going back to his own lamb stew.  
  
She shrugged, tearing off a piece of bread. "Nope. Told you, he's not much of a day person." Scooping the bread in the thick stew, she savored the flavor, hardly wincing at the saltiness of it. As soon as they got home, she was sticking to yogurt and rice cakes for a year. It amazed her that she hadn't gained a pound, her clothes still fit perfectly, leading her to believe the healing properties of the spell had a hand in this too. Nifty thing to have. Maybe she could figure out how to work it so Buffy had something similar during patrol.  
  
As soon as she thought of Buffy, she changed the course of her thoughts, it would only force her to think of all her friends, and how much she missed them. And until she knew for sure that she'd be going home soon, she avoided thinking about them altogether. Especially Tara, whom she missed more than anything. She missed being with her, and holding her, and kissing her. Talking with her. Not to mention the sex.  
  
And she needed to not think about that right now. Not until she knew.  
  
  
  
Willow closed the door quietly behind her, and turned to see if she'd woken Spike up. Considering he was standing right in front of her when she turned, she thought that, no, maybe she hadn't.  
  
"Could you not do that?" she practically yelled. "My heart isn't dead, it actually beats, and if you don't stop scaring the heck out of me, it won't be beating for long." She dropped into the chair by the door and glared at him.  
  
"Anything?" He was going to completely ignore her griping, that much was obvious from the lack of return-griping.  
  
Gypped out of a nice, healthy argument, Willow shook her head. "No, and why, yes, Spike, I'm just fine. How are you?" He tossed her an uncaring snort and went back to staring at her and doing nothing else. She rolled her eyes, leaning her head against the chair back. "We never talk these days," she joked, "don't you love me anymore?" Judging by the finger he aimed her way, she thought the answer was once again, no.  
  
He paced a few times, running his hands through his not-completely-bleach-blonde-anymore hair. "This isn't a vacation, Willow. We're--"  
  
"Stuck here," she yawned, finishing his oft repeated complaint. "I know. And I'm working on it." She sat up, watching him as he began pacing again. "So far, I've come up with absolutely no reason for us being here." Hesitating, she brought up an idea that she'd been tossing around for a while. "Maybe we were supposed to come here. What if... fate, or destiny, or the powers that be, or something brought us here for a reason?"  
  
He obviously didn't agree with her, his sneer was cruel and evil, two things he was good at being. "And what reason would that be, love? To keep Angel from being turned? To kill him? Keep Dru, then me, from ever being turned? Is that it?" he snarled. He stopped pacing, and advanced on her threateningly.  
  
"Get over yourself," she said tiredly. "I am so sick of hearing you obsess about Angel. You hate him, I get that, but not everything I do is because of Angel." She pushed herself to her feet before she fell asleep in the chair, and laid down on the bed. "You know, the way I see it, Angelus has to be made a vampire and survive long enough to turn Dru. Dru has to turn you, and all three of you have to make your merry way to Sunnydale." A yawn escaped her despite her best efforts, and she closed her eyes against the dull yellow light from the single lit tallow candle on the dresser, and Spike's equally dull glare.  
  
"You're going to bed now?" he asked incredulously. "It's only..." he paused, probably to look at his watch, "eight."  
  
"Couldn't sleep last night," she said around another yawn, "so I didn't."  
  
"Oh," he said warily. "Why, uh, why didn't you wake me up?"  
  
Since he sounded so worried, did that mean he knew he'd ended up wrapped around her? Of course, she'd been wrapped around him first. Every day she woke up like that, but hadn't once tried to extricate herself from him, just fallen back to sleep. "Why? No reason for both of us to be miserable." Hardly able to keep her eyes open, she stopped trying, and fell asleep.  
  
  
  
The next afternoon, Willow was so completely enmeshed in the book she was reading that it took her a minute to realize Spike was talking to her. She looked up from her spot on the bed as she turned another page in the magick book. "What?"  
  
He was leering at her, and his voice had a suggestive tone to it. "I said I can help you with that." Given that he was sitting bare-chested, aside from the gold chain hanging around his neck, she figured that anything he said, and any tone he used would come out sounding suggestive.  
  
Ignoring that, along with his half-naked state, she sat up a little, a confused expression replacing her curious one. "With my book? Um, no, I think I can handle it all on my own." His grin was huge, and annoying, and so much more sexy than it had a right to be. "I'm a big girl," she added, regretting it immediately when his grin widened.  
  
"You were singing," he told her, lowering his book. He could do that since his was in his hand. Not a conjured one like hers. "The Stones. I can help you with that lack of satisfaction. Although," he paused, a disappointed frown tipping down the corners of his lips, "not with the girlie action part. I could try real hard though."  
  
Oh boy, and that was not a pleasant tingly feeling in her stomach trying to tickle her to death. Spike didn't engender those kinds of feelings. But then the other thing he's said penetrated her mind, and she paled slightly. Singing? In front of Spike? Ack. She couldn't sing well under the best circumstances, but to be caught singing without even realizing it? Horror. "Um, no. No, that's all right. I'm okay with my lack of satisfact-- I mean--" she groaned miserably, damning her tongue for getting her into trouble again.  
  
His laughter cut off anything she'd been about to say. "Admitting the problem is half the cure." He was trying to look all helpful and supportive, but failing miserably due to the laughter.  
  
Knowing he was teasing her, which, marvel at that, she hunkered down a little, grumbling, "Shut up. I have no satisfaction problems."  
  
"Well, if you do start feeling a little... peckish, you just let me know. I'll take right good care of you." He laughed some more and went back to his book.  
  
She tried to do the same, but a thought popped into her head and it wouldn't go away. Not wanting to give him any more fuel for the fire that was her, she tried to stop herself from speaking, but her mouth was already moving, and words were forming. "Besides, isn't all your satisfaction-giving reserved for Drusilla?" A blush was already staining her cheeks by the time the last word was out of her mouth, but she couldn't stop there. "Or actually Harmony now, I guess."  
  
"Well, yeah. It used to be," he admitted with a snicker and a shrug. "But, I don't see either of them around, do you?" He winked exaggeratedly, waggling his eyebrows a bit. Teasing her once again. "Live a little," he encouraged, "be wild. You know, they say once you've gone vamp..." he trailed off, turning his attention back to his book, leaving her to imagine the rest.  
  
And there it should've ended, but her darn mind just couldn't leave it at that. Oh no, not her, she of the big brain and bigger mouth. "When Angel grabbed me that night, he said-- it got me, you know, thinking-- and, um, do you... you know, with your victims? The ones you eat?" Her blush, still not gone from before, deepened even more at her poor choice of words. "I mean-- oh, hey, neat book you've got there. Taming of the Shrew. Good one. Shakespeare... he's kind of... an old friend of mine... shutting up now," she finished with an embarrassed mumble.  
  
He raised an eyebrow at her. That's all he did, raise one eyebrow. Of course, after that there was a lot of laughter, but she hadn't really expected differently. "No," he finally choked out, "I don't."  
  
She nodded, hunkering down even further behind the floating book. God, kill me now, she thought. Why couldn't she ever just keep her mouth shut? Would it kill her not to speak? No. She'd probably not keel over just because she didn't ask one stupid question.  
  
A few minutes later, after not having read one single word of the ten pages she'd just flipped through, she chanced a look at Spike. Still reading, yay. Wow, he really liked that book, judging by the smile on his lips. Who knew Spike was into Shakespeare? Who knew Spike was into reading at all?  
  
"Finis," she sighed, climbing out of bed as the book disappeared. Wandering around the room was boring, she'd done it enough times to know without doing so again. There was nothing to do. No laptop to turn on, no books except Spike's, and her magick ones, no friends to talk with. Nothing to do at all.  
  
"Am I boring you?" he asked without looking up from the book.  
  
"There's nothing to do here," she complained, sitting back down on the bed. "Staring at these ugly wood walls, and looking down on the cobblestones lost its charm a long time ago. And, at the risk of starting another conversation like the one we just had, do you have any suggestions? I mean, you lived during a time similar to this. What did you do for entertainment?"  
  
Instead of dirty suggestions and smirking answers, he simply held his book up. "This."  
  
Conversation was better than nothing, and even though he hadn't offered any, she chose to take it anyway. "I didn't know you liked to read. What else have you read?"  
  
He glared at her, slapping the book down on his thigh. "I may be a demon, but I do know how to read. And I'm not talking about the Pokey Little Puppy. That's more Angelus' bag."  
  
Willow folded her hands primly in her lap and sat up straight, asking in a serious tone, "And did he also enjoy Green Eggs and Ham, and Sam I Am? 'Cause those ones were really good too." She tried not to laugh, but she just couldn't help the giggles that escaped.  
  
Amusement flickered in his eyes and he shook his head. "Guess I'm a little touchy."  
  
"A little? Please. You had this little eye tic thing happening, and a muscle in your jaw was just... going crazy, not to mention the furious glare. I was very afraid for my life just then." She flopped backward on the bed, flinging her arms over her head, then rolled over to look at Spike. "I was asking you what other Shakespeare you've read."  
  
He stood up with a stretch, and Willow couldn't help but watch him, even at the chance of being caught. He was just kind of... mesmerizing. All muscle and sinew and... think bad thoughts, think bone and gristle. Ew. That certainly got her thoughts off of naked Spike.  
  
Finished stretching, he cast a glance at the darkening window. "Only a few."  
  
Only a few? she thought. What were they talking about? Naked Spike? Nope, not that.  
  
After lighting the sconces with his Zippo, he leaned against the wall, looking down at her. "I've read more Poe than Shakespeare."  
  
Poe, right, Shakespeare, reading, that's what they'd been discussing. Good save there, Willow. She wrinkled her nose as the smell of the tallow candles drifted through the room. Pretty soon, she knew, smoke would start to fill the tiny room and burn her eyes. "Well that makes sense in an odd way, doesn't it? Can you open the window yet?"  
  
"Not without getting an unhealthy tan." He dropped down onto the bed. "You'd better get it."  
  
She stood up with a sigh, tossing him a look. "Sometimes I think you use your sun aversion as an excuse not to do anything."  
  
"You know it." He grinned unabashedly.  
  
She pushed the shutter open and unlatched the window, allowing it to swing open. Cool air gusted in, blowing her hair across her face. "I was actually reading the Telltale Heart to Tara the night you grabbed me." Combing her hair back from her face, she sat down in the chair he'd vacated.  
  
"Grabbed you?" he repeated with a frown. "I didn't grab you. I tricked you, plain and simple. Can I help it if you're gullible?"  
  
She sat up straighter, irked at him. "Gullible? I so don't think so. It's absolutely conceivable that Buffy, Xander and Giles were hurt in that warehouse, therefore, I wasn't being gullible. I was just foolish." Sore points with her, all. She hadn't been gullible, but she was ashamed of herself for believing Spike without question. She should've known better.  
  
Dropping that subject, he went on to another. "What is it exactly that you see in that girl? She's boring, and pasty."  
  
"Tara isn't boring, or pasty. She's sweet, and nice, and pretty, and fun, and I like being with her." Uncomfortable with where the conversation was going, she turned it around on him. "What do you see in Harmony? She has maybe one thought a day, and it's usually, 'Wow, I'm so pretty and vapid and annoying.'"  
  
Spike snorted with laughter, agreeing wholeheartedly. "It's not her mind I'm interested in."  
  
Willow rolled her eyes. "Duh. A rock has more thoughts than Harmony, so I kind of figured out what you wanted her for."  
  
"Jealous?" he snickered, laughing at her utterly disgusted look.  
  
"Uh, no! I have never, ever had... those kind of thoughts about Harmony. Ever." She shuddered, feeling grossed-out and oogie. That was worse than thinking of Buffy or Cordelia in that way. Yuck.  
  
His eyebrows lifted briefly before settling down in a frown. "I meant-- never mind."  
  
She wondered what he'd been about to say, but for once, she kept her mouth shut. She was in training. Mouth Shut classes began at noon and four o'clock; don't be late. "Doesn't she kind of bore you?"  
  
"Hell yes, Harmony bores me. I mean, sex is all well and good, but after a while I crave a good conversation. One that doesn't involve her hair, her make-up, her clothes, her wants, her needs... or her, at all." He rolled his eyes in disgust. "She actually thinks I'm gonna take her to France. I told her to go by herself, because there's no way in hell I'll take her, but she won't listen. Thinks I'm kidding."  
  
Willow nodded, remembering all those tutoring sessions she'd had with the blonde back in the sixth grade. In one ear and out the other wasn't even close to describing Harmony's thought process. "Yep, sounds like Harmony." Vacating the chair for the more comfortable bed, she laid down on her stomach, propping her chin in her hands. "Tell me about Drusilla. Did you love her right away?"  
  
His eyes dropped to hers, his eyebrows raising in question. "What do you want to know about Dru for?"  
  
She shrugged expansively. "I'm bored. Reading has lost its appeal for me these past few days, and since there's nothing else to do... regale me?"  
  
He sighed, sounding so put upon she had to slap his leg. A glare was tossed her way, before he fixed his gaze somewhere on the wall behind her, and his eyes softened just the smallest bit. "Fell in love with her the moment I laid eyes on her," he said quietly.  
  
She kept silent, not wanting to disturb him from his reverie, preferring to keep her envy to herself. Tara was as close as she'd come to love at first sight, though that was more like love at first touch. The feelings were extremely powerful, but she'd never seen anything on Tara's face that even came close to the love on Spike's.  
  
"She was sitting on the grass," Spike continued, "her black gown pooled around her, and such unrestrained joy on her face that it took my breath away. Uh, if I'd had breath anyway."  
  
Okay, not interrupting him was forgotten in her curiosity and confusion. "But... wait, you told me before that Drusilla turned you. How could she do that if the first time you saw her you were already a vampire?"  
  
"That was William," he explained, "the soul. The first time I saw Drusilla was when I clawed my way out of the grave. She was there waiting for me, grinning like a kid at Christmastime, clapping her hands..." His own smile widened in remembrance. "I was her first."  
  
"First?" Willow repeated hesitantly. "First... lover?"  
  
Spike snorted disdainfully, tossing her a look that told her what he thought of her question. "Hardly. You think Angelus didn't get there first? Darla too? No, I meant her first time turning someone."  
  
"Oh." Feeling a little stupid, she rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. "Was it scary? Waking up in a coffin?"  
  
Spike looked down at Willow, wondering why she was asking so many questions. Was it just her bored state, or was there more to it than that? He'd been halfway serious with his offer of satisfaction, testing the waters to see if she was amenable. After weeks of her being wrapped around him while they slept, and no Harmony or Drusilla around to take care of certain needs, she was the next obvious choice, though it was more than that, he knew. Had known since the last time he bit her. The combination of her blood and body always being in such close proximity was enough to drive him near batty.  
  
But, she'd dismissed him like a pest, brassing him off more than a little. As if he didn't matter. Well, she wanted to know things? He'd give her details. "Wasn't pleasant. I woke up in darkness, with no idea of where I was, or how I'd gotten there. And this tremendous, pulsing hate was just... flowing through me, eatin' away at my insides, pushing out all thought."  
  
He could feel her stiffen beside him, and knew she wasn't enjoying the conversation any more, but he didn't want to stop. He wanted her to know what it was like, had a need to describe it all to her. To make her understand.  
  
"I could move, but just barely. I felt around in the dark, trying to figure out where I was, and touched wood above me, and just started... kicking and clawing at it to get free. That's all I wanted, was to get free and kill. And eat. Though I had no idea at the time what I hungered for." He could remember that night as if it happened only that week, rather than a century before. Feeling the desperation and anger at being enclosed in such a small space. Claustrophobia had descended on him like a blanket, choking him as much as the dirt that fell inside the coffin.  
  
Shaking free of the memories, he looked down at Willow, tempted to smooth the frown off of her brow. His hand remained at his side, and when she urged him on with a light nudge on his leg, he continued as if it didn't bother him to recount the details of his birth as a vampire.  
  
"Once I broke through and the dirt fell in on me, I knew I was in a grave. Knew I was dead. I didn't care, just wanted out so I could kill whoever was responsible for putting me there." He paused, wondering if that concerned frown on Willow's face was for him.  
  
"That must've been-- I can't imagine... God, it sounds so," she stopped, trying to find the word she wanted, then settled on, "awful."  
  
"Understatement," he chuckled, nudging her arm with his leg. "But I survived it. Clawed my way through the dirt and mud handful by handful, and as I neared the surface, I heard someone singing."  
  
"Drusilla," she whispered.  
  
Spike nodded, though she couldn't see it. "I wanted to rip her apart with my bare hands, bruised and bloodied though they were. Wanted to tear her skin from her bones, and leave her there to die."  
  
Her eyes darted to his briefly before landing on the ceiling again. "Talk about an issue-inducing event. I'm surprised all vampires aren't insane."  
  
"You eventually get past it," he laughed, silently agreeing with her. He was cruel, and evil, sadistic as hell, and he got off on pain... but he still shuddered at the thought of being buried alive.  
  
"Once I'd broken through, I couldn't see much. I was covered in dirt and mud, and hadn't stopped to wipe my eyes. I didn't need to. I could see without seeing. I sensed her there, and decided not to just kill her, but to hurt her. A lot." Sitting back more comfortably was a little hard with Willow partially on his side of the bed, so he nudged her over, waiting until she scooted out of the way before stretching his legs out, and crossing his hands behind his head.  
  
"She was only a foot or two away, no longer singing. I dragged myself out of the hole I'd dug, crawled over to her and grabbed her, ready to break her apart."  
  
Willow rolled over again when he stopped, watching him with wide eyes, urging him to continue. "Why didn't you?" she finally asked.  
  
Spike shrugged, not sure himself. "I looked into her eyes, and fell in love."  
  
Willow blinked a couple of times, frowned, started to say something then stopped. A second later, as he'd known would happen, she opened her mouth again. "That's... extremely sappy, Spike."  
  
He nodded in agreement, laughing lightly at her rolled eyes. "Every story needs an ending, love."  
  
"So it's not true?" she asked. "You didn't fall at her feet and proclaim your undying love for her?" She giggled a little, trying to hide it from him, but he could hear her plain as day.  
  
"Actually I did fall at her feet, but not to proclaim my love. Angelus was nearby, watching the whole thing. He decided to taunt the new guy, showing Dru just how bad a choice she made. He tore me away from Dru, beat me to a bloody pulp, and dropped me at her feet." He remembered well the laughing words Angelus tossed down at him as he lay on the cold ground, bleeding and confused. 'Welcome to the family. Boy.'  
  
Willow sat up with a sigh, stretching her neck from side to side. "I really don't like that guy. Kind of hate him, in fact."  
  
"Aw." Spike grinned, grabbing a cigarette from the tilting nightstand. "Angry on my behalf, love? I'm touched." Snapping the Zippo shut, he went over to the window, giving Willow a break from the smoke. The tallow candles were bad enough without the added cigarette smoke.  
  
"It's more just a general kind of hate-thing," she assured him. "Not that I wouldn't hate him on your behalf, it's just that... well, you're sort of as evil as he is, only not quite as much."  
  
Deciding not to take offense, he nodded, staring outside into the night. "Yeah. I'm evil."  
  
"And I'm hungry." She pushed herself to her feet and opened the nightstand drawer, checking for money. Finding none, she bit her lip and looked at him. She wouldn't ask him for the money because she knew where it came from, and it was completely against everything she stood for to ask for money that she knew came from his victims.  
  
Preferring not to have her stand there staring at him for the next ten minutes, he sighed and tossed a handful of coins on the bed. As she always did, she took only one coin and left the rest. When she was gone, he scooped up the coins and put them in the nightstand drawer, then left for his own dinner.  
  
"Evil," he sighed, shutting the door behind him.  
  
  
  
Moonlight still shone brightly in the night sky when Spike stumbled through the door. The alcohol swimming through his veins forced him to squint and reach out three times before finding the right doorknob amidst the trio suddenly there. His boots scuffed loudly on the wooden floor, and he quickly looked toward the bed to see if he'd woken Willow up.  
  
She moaned lightly and rolled over, but remained asleep. Good. No need to wake her up and let her know he was as drunk as a skunk.  
  
"Drunk as a skunk," he whispered, snickering a bit. What the bloody hell does that mean anyway? Dropping into the chair, he yanked his boots off with a grunt. Derived from the phrase 'stinking drunk'? Hmm, he'd have to ask Willow if she knew, she was smart. A smart witch. A Willow witch.  
  
He looked down at himself with a sigh. Next came the shirt. Lots of tiny little buttons to undo. After the first three, he grew impatient and pulled it off over his head, tossing it to the floor. Willow moaned again, shifting under the covers. Another nightmare. She had a lot of those. Probably about him killing her.  
  
Oh, yeah, she fears me, he thought with a self-important sniff as he climbed quietly under the covers, careful not to wake her. Almost immediately, she rolled into him, probably because he'd dipped the bed low enough to force her to. No matter the reason, he took the opportunity to settle an arm over her stomach. And what a nice, tight little tummy it was too.  
  
Her hair brushed against his chest, and he blew at it. When that didn't work, he swatted at it.  
  
"What are you doing?" the owner of the hair asked. She moved slightly away from him, forcing him to remove his arm from her waist.  
  
"Your hair's ticklin' me." He blew again, grinning when she shivered lightly. "Go back to sleep," he mumbled, halfway there himself.  
  
"I can't yet." She yawned widely, the action belying her words. "I had a nightmare, and if I fall right back to sleep, it'll just start over again. Or pick up where it left off."  
  
Forcing his eyes open, he focused on her profile in the meager light coming through the closed shutters. She looked tired. As tired as he felt.  
  
"Have you read the Telltale Heart?" she asked around another yawn, looking over at him.  
  
"Yeah, a few times," he answered, propping his head on his hand. "Humans get a thrill out of it, but it doesn't hold the same appeal to us vampires."  
  
"Oh." She was silent for a minute, and he thought she was falling back to sleep when she spoke again. "It doesn't give you the heebie-jeebies? 'Cause, it did me."  
  
He laughed when she shuddered. "No, love, no heebie-jeebies for me. I hear heartbeats all the time. What's to scare me?" Her leg brushed his when she turned onto her side, imitating his position.  
  
"Not scare so much as give me the major oogies." She fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, pulling it higher. "I always wondered if the sound stopped after he confessed. Do you think it did? 'Cause, just the thought of hearing something that doesn't ever stop is enough to make me panic. It's-- it's like that episode of Star Trek where they find a ship, and go to investigate--"  
  
"Sounds like just about every episode every written. All generations," he chuckled, receiving a soft slap to his arm.  
  
"I can't remember who it was, but one of them got something on his hand, only there was nothing there. He kept scratching at it, 'cause it itched, but there was nothing there, and... the thought of something being there that isn't actually there but noticeable... well it's just creepy to me."  
  
He closed his eyes and leaned back. "Kinda like the Taos Hum?" he asked absently.  
  
"Yes," she said loudly, then lowered her voice, "exactly. Just like that."  
  
Spike had to laugh at her exuberance. She was always so excited about the smallest things. He liked that about her. "Is that what you were dreaming about? Non-stop beating hearts?"  
  
"No," she said quietly. "Darla and Angelus."  
  
Obviously she was upset and not wanting to talk about it, so he changed the subject. "Have you read The Sphinx? By Poe?"  
  
She shook her head, rolling onto her back again. "What's it about?" Her bright eyes were shining in the moonlight as she gazed him, looking so innocent and trusting.  
  
He shook his head at himself. What was he doing? Discussing literature with Willow? Any other time he'd be tearing into her neck, not trying to occupy her until she was ready to fall back to sleep. Instead of dampening his feelings, the alcohol had actually intensified them.  
  
"Spike." She nudged his arm a few times, trying to grab his attention. "Earth to Spike."  
  
Opening his eyes, he kept his gaze from Willow, and turned it instead to the ceiling. "It's about a guy who needs to learn some perspective," he said softly, shrugging.  
  
"Um, wow, that's, uh... that's vague."  
  
"That's because I'm tired, and it's late. I'll tell you about it tomorrow. Go to sleep," he ordered softly, rolling away from her, and her enticing smell.  
  
But she didn't. "Are you drunk because of what you told me earlier? The stuff about Drusilla and Angelus?" She paused for a second, and he just knew she was going to apologize.  
  
He had this thing where he didn't like being apologized to by annoying little girls with sweet-smelling hair and big, innocent eyes. "Does it matter?" he asked her, sighing heavily.  
  
"I-- I guess not," she mumbled, rolling away from him. "Sorry."  
  
Bloody hell, she'd gotten to say it anyway. 


	7. Time Stitch 7

Disclaimer: See chapter 1, or 6.  
  
PART 7  
  
"Leaving," Willow repeated for the third time, tossing a wide smile at her overbearing vampire companion. "Well, yay. It's about time. Are we going home? 'Cause I can't wait to see Tara and--"  
  
Spike interrupted her and ignored her question, which she found rather suspicious.  
  
"Hey, if you want to end up running from dinosaurs, be my guest, but I, for one, would like to end up in the right place, and the right time. And, I also wanted to make sure nothing went wrong with Angelus, because... as much as I hate to admit it, I need him." Leaning against the dresser, Spike folded his arms across his chest, watching Willow pace around the cramped space.  
  
She stopped right in front of him and put her hands on her hips. "Make sure nothing went wrong with Angel? Like what, Spike? Like make sure someone didn't kick Liam when he was down and then allow them to be drawn into a fight with him?" she asked sarcastically. "You know, you could've told me what you'd done weeks ago." She flopped into the chair in front of the bed, her skirts billowing around her. Spike watched in amusement as she tried to get comfortable in her seat. It was a vain attempt, soon given up.  
  
He shouldn't have told her, should've kept it to himself. But, she had asked, and he had told her. "Doesn't matter now. And how was I supposed to know he was awake when I kicked him?"  
  
She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Oh, I don't know, listen for a change in breathing, or heartbeat?"  
  
"All this sarcasm in one so young," he lamented. "Look, Angel was an ass. Back then... now, I mean, and in the future. Toleration was about as good as it got between us. If it hadn't been for Dru, I'd have left long before he got his soul."  
  
"So are we going home then?" she asked again.  
  
"No." He took a deep breath, and steeled himself. "I've a hankering to see my sire." Trying to get past this anger she'd had for him since this morning, he kept his tone light.  
  
Willow closed her eyes, sinking back into the chair. "When?"  
  
"Eighteen-sixty." He pushed away from the dresser, opening one of the drawers. "Since you can't seem to find anything on the spell, I figured why not just... go for it. I got all the stuff we need right here."  
  
"How convenient," Willow sighed. "Spike, have you at all stopped to consider that, maybe I don't want to traipse around Europe with you? I mean, this whole extra healing thing is cool and all, but definitely not worth it. I miss Buffy and Xander, and Tara, and Giles, and... I want to go home."  
  
Spike tossed the candles and sea salt on the bed. "I considered it. And then I remembered that I don't give a flying-- wait a minute. What extra healing thing?"  
  
She pushed her hair back, revealing the healed bite marks there. Spike's eyes narrowed on her, and she had the sudden urge to shrink back, which she did. His eyes followed her, and then his body. He reached out and grabbed her arm, yanking her closer. His hand roughly shoved her head to the side.  
  
"What the bloody hell is this? You said the others healed from the spell... you lied?" he asked in disbelief.  
  
Willow shuddered when his fingers traced the scars on her neck, but her voice was strong when she replied. "No, I didn't-- well, yeah, actually, I did. But, what was I supposed to do? Tell you that I'm basically an all you can eat buffet, and that I'll never be off the menu?" Her eyes widened at her confession, and she swallowed nervously. "Um, I didn't, 'cause of the way you're looking at me right now." She backed away nervously, holding her hand against his chest, halting his progress toward her. "Spike... you don't want to eat me. I'm not very tasty. Pretty scrawny and icky in fact."  
  
Spike chuckled darkly, reaching around her. She jerked away from his hand and ended up plastered against his chest. Oh, frying pan, fire, how I have missed thee, she thought, moving back.  
  
"Holy water cocktails, remember? Unless that was a lie too?" He raised an eyebrow at her in question, and tossed the candle he'd picked up from the bed back and forth in his hands.  
  
She shook her head. "Not a lie. I just didn't want to go through all the pain it would take to, um, teach you a lesson." Okay, so it had been a lie. Only not on purpose. She had fully intended to have a glass of water blessed daily and drink it down. But, the only priest in town, Father McNeil, wanted to know why she wanted a glass of water blessed. He'd started to talk about witchcraft, and wondered why she was out alone... and it was just more of a hassle than she wanted. Besides, the threat was out there, and hopefully it was enough to deter him.   
  
He tossed her a wink. "Doesn't have to hurt."  
  
"So not going there." And then she went there anyway. "It doesn't? 'Cause I've been bitten five times, four since you forced me to do this stupid spell, and each and every one of them hurt. Yours included."  
  
"Six times. I bit you in the warehouse. Which proves my point."  
  
Her hand raised to her neck, and she pushed him away from her. The mirror was crappy, but it was the only one there. She stomped over to the dresser and leaned forward, examining her scars. One on the left side of her neck, courtesy of Harmony. Two on the right side, courtesy of Pete and Spike. She tilted her head back slightly, looking at the one just under her jaw on the left. And, one more on her right shoulder. Faintly, she could see that there were actually three bite marks on the right side of her neck. "Why did you bite me? When?"  
  
"Told you. In the warehouse." He grinned at her. "Wasn't just naughty licking I was doing, pet. The spell called for one of two things. Shagging or biting." He shrugged and tossed the candles on the bed. "If you want to do the shagging--"  
  
"Uh, no," she said, backing away from him. Again. Boy, she must be making him feel all manly. Since this whole thing had started, she'd done nothing but run from him, and ward him off. "Biting worked. I'm good. You good?" She nodded and smiled. "Good. So. You want to do the spell now? Or..."  
  
"Now. Change back into you clothes and wrap the new ones up in a sheet or something. Just in case they don't make the leap with us. Don't want to land in the middle of London without any clothes on." His leer at her said otherwise.  
  
"Yes, sir." She saluted him and clicked her heels together, then went about gathering their clothes. Spike was already wearing his Sunnydale clothes minus his T-Shirt, which she now used as a nightshirt. She sat on the bed and slid her jeans under her numerous skirts, easily sliding them over her hips and buttoning them. The shirt was a little harder. She took it under the dress, and pulled the bodice off and up until she was under the skirts, then slid his T-Shirt over her head and pulled it down. Yanking the dress off of her, she tossed it onto the bed and stood up.  
  
Spike was standing in the middle of the room, grinning and shaking his head at her. "I would've turned around if you'd asked." He laughed at her disgruntled expression and grabbed the jar of sea salt.  
  
"Why wouldn't the clothes make the trip? In all the books I've read since we got here, I didn't see one reference to material items not making the big Quantum Leap." She balled up her gowns, and stood waiting.  
  
He shrugged, taking her clothes from her so she could draw the circle with the sea salt. "I don't know. It was just a thought. The candles and bowl of crap you burned in the warehouse didn't make the trip. I figured, better safe than sorry, right? Unless of course you *want* to end up naked in the middle of the street or something." And again, there was a whole lot of leering.  
  
"Well," pressing the cork stopper back in the jar of sea salt, she set it down outside the circle and took the white porcelain basin Spike offered her, "those didn't come because they were part of the ritual. Our clothes aren't."  
  
"Right, makes sense. Want me to turn around this time?"  
  
His snicker of amusement had her sighing in annoyance. He was enjoying himself way too much. If she didn't know better, which she didn't, she'd think he made that up just to put her through dressing and undressing. "Nope. I'll just slip the gown on over my jeans and stuff. If people think it's weird, I'll just blame it on you somehow."  
  
"Yeah," he chuckled, tossing the blue gown at her, "you do that."  
  
She caught it, but just barely. Most of the circle she'd just drawn was now smudged and broken. "Jerk." Slipping the gown on, she quickly did up the buttons, which meant it only took five minutes instead of ten. The fit was a little tight, but at least she wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb.  
  
Spike kept his Sunnydale clothes on, took the sheet from the bed and tossed the rest of their clothes in the middle of the sheet and wrapped it up, tying the ends. While he was busy with that, she checked the room, just to make sure she wasn't leaving anything behind... like, say, her bloodied blouse. She shoved it into the bundle, lifted her skirts and checked her front pocket for the scrap of cloth from Spike's shirt. When her hand closed around it, she relaxed, and re-drew the circle.  
  
"Let's do it," she said. 


	8. Time Stitch 8

Disclaimer: See chapter 1, or 6.  
  
PART 8  
  
Spike stuffed his red shirt into the sheet now filled with the rest of his Sunnydale clothes and Willow's brown gown. Too bad she was nowhere to be found. Shoving the bundle under his arm, he glared at the empty alleyway one last time, then headed off down the street. What the hell had happened this time? Everything felt the same. The spell shot from Willow into him, same as the first time. The light blinded him again, and damn if he hadn't fallen a few feet to the cobblestone alleyway, bruising his shoulder.  
  
Now, he was alone. Without Willow. And why could nothing ever go his way?  
  
"Son of a bitch," he growled, pushing past a trio of drunk men. They growled and bitched right back at him, until he put on his game face and snarled threateningly. After that, they pretty much ran screaming. Like women. In a slightly lighter mood now, he stopped and looked around him. London. At least Willow had gotten that right.  
  
Now all he had to do was figure out what time period he was in, and where the hell Willow had disappeared to. Unable to tell by simply standing there staring at the people and carriages moving around him, he decided to stop in the first pub he happened upon and ask there. It had nothing to do with him wanting a drink. A big drink.  
  
Halfway down the block, he got lucky in the pub department. Yanking the door open, he took a quick look around the place. Dark wood floor, wood walls, wood... everything. Apparently a lot of thought had gone into the decor. Sawdust on the floor... small tables set around the room, and a lot of people. And every one of them were human.  
  
He'd have a few drinks, nab some information, and then maybe go out for a snack.  
  
He made his way through the crowd, ignoring the loud conversations floating around the room, and sat at the bar, waving over the dark-haired guy behind the counter. "Bottle of whiskey," spike told him, before he remembered his less than filled pockets. He rifled through his pockets, found the coins from Galway, and set one on the counter.  
  
The guy stared at Spike with curiosity but remained silent. He could stare all he wanted to, Spike thought, so long as he didn't hold back the booze. He reached out to take the bottle, but just as his hand brushed it, the barkeep pulled it back, out of reach.  
  
"Owner doesn't accept anything but English coin," he said, nodding at the coin on the counter.  
  
His Irish accent had Spike doing a double-take. He had seen London out there, hadn't he? Yeah, definitely saw London. "It's Irish, my, uh, my... grandfather gave it to me." He shoved it across the counter toward the barkeeper. "It's old, an antique. Worth a lot of money. You can buy this place with it." When the guy didn't move, Spike rolled his eyes. "Just give me the damn bottle."  
  
The guy looked tempted, but he still didn't reach for it. "And why would you be giving me this 'antique coin' for free?"  
  
He sounded a bit skeptical, Spike could understand that, since he was of a skeptical nature himself. "I've got lots of 'em. And I'm rich. So I don't give a damn about one stupid coin. Now give me the bottle."  
  
The barkeeper finally shrugged and handed Spike the bottle, grabbing the coin off the counter and sliding it inside his vest pocket. "Thanks."  
  
"Yeah." Spike took the whiskey bottle, grabbed a shot glass from the counter, and moved to a corner table, lamenting his lot. Damn it. He'd forgotten to ask the Irish bloke what year it was. He was alone, and Willow was lost out there somewhere, she could be hurt, or dead... or, what if she'd sent him here on purpose? To some unknown time in London. "Hey," he called to the waitress hurrying past his table, "what's the date?"  
  
She stopped on a dime, the tray held above her head not even wobbling at the sudden halting of movement. Her blonde hair swung free down her back, held back only by a blue silk ribbon at the nape of her neck. She didn't look happy at the moment, even less happy that he'd stopped to ask her so mundane a question. "Fifth of March." When he continued to stare at her expectantly, she sighed and added, "Eighteen hundred and fifty-five."  
  
He nodded, poured a shot and downed it. He poured four more and was well on his way to being slightly tipsy when he left. Carrying the bottle in one hand, and their clothes in the other, he stood there, wondering where to go. Shrugging, knowing it wouldn't really matter which direction he went in, he headed to his left.  
  
Five years off the mark. A chuckle escaped him. She was getting closer. At least it wasn't two hundred and forty-six years this time. Still, she'd definitely screwed things up again. Not only was he in the wrong time, but she'd made herself scarce.  
  
Could she be back in her own time, in Sunnydale, waiting for him to show up brassed off?  
  
A few miles away, he found an old warehouse and decided to crash there. Just like old times. He crossed the street and headed toward it, taking another healthy drink of his whiskey. The door was barely hanging on its hinges, so he kicked it in, and made himself at home. The warehouse itself was empty of everything except dust, but the office wasn't too bad off. He went into the office, slammed the door shut, and took a seat at the broken desk, falling on his ass when the chair broke.  
  
"Bloody hell," he snarled, "my life is turning into a farce... could it possibly get any worse?"  
  
"Yeah," a voice snickered from behind him, his cockney accent putting Spike's to shame. "It just did."  
  
Spike tilted his head back. There was a tall blond vampire standing behind him. Tall because Spike was still sitting on the floor. "Go to hell," he spat, pissed that his new home was being invaded. He was in no mood to fight at the moment.  
  
"I was here first," the vamp said incredulously, "I live here, I'm not leaving." He walked around to Spike's other side, and sat on the sagging desk, crossing his arms over his chest like an arrogant bully. "You leave."  
  
"Nya, nya," Spike sneered, feeling extremely petty, yet not willing to fight for the dubious comfort of the filthy office... maybe he was spoiled from staying at the Watcher's flat. He climbed to his feet, grabbed the clothes-filled sheet, hugging it to him like it was an academy award, and left the room, not bothering to look behind him as he slammed the door shut. He stood still for a minute, looking across the cavernous warehouse. There was another office over there, and it was empty. Now all he had to do was get there. Heaving the sigh of his life, he shuffled across the room, stopping three times to finish off the bottle, and once to pick up the clothes bundle.  
  
Finally reaching the other office, he sighed at the dust covering everything, shut the door, locked it and laid down on the desk, using the bundle as a pillow.  
  
He was asleep within minutes.  
  
  
  
Spike was pissed off. He'd looked everywhere for Willow, and come to one conclusion; she wasn't in eighteen fifty-five, and if she was, she was doing a damn good job of hiding. He was about to find out for sure, once and for all. It had taken him a month, but he'd finally done it, finally found a magick shop. One that dealt with real magick, not that crap people sold at the apothecary's.  
  
Normally, Spike was great at culling information... normally being not this time. Snarling at the annoying tinkle of the annoying bell above the door, he stomped past the rows of shelves and up to the counter. And there he waited. And waited.  
  
He glanced around while he had plenty of time to do so, checking out the small one room shop, which was mostly filled with books and candles. Not a whole lot going on in the customers department... in fact, he was the only customer. The shopkeeper behind the counter should damn well be scraping and bowing to him, but, she was too busy reading her book. So busy in fact that she hadn't even heard him come in, didn't know he was standing there about to rip her head off. He opened his mouth, lots of cuss words on the tip of his tongue, when she held her finger up to shush him.  
  
"Save the language for when you're with other vampires please." She looked up from her book and smiled at him.  
  
Spike rolled his eyes. "You're psychic?" Great, just what he needed, someone poking around inside his head.  
  
"Not really." She grinned, obviously thinking he was in a good mood and wanted to chit-chat. "The way you stomped in here, I could read your mood rather easily, and your eyes are yellow. My name is Christine, what can I get for you?"  
  
Spike could care less what her name was, or whatever else she felt she needed to tell him, all he wanted was an answer to his question, and maybe some ingredients for a spell. "I need to find someone, but I don't know if she's here. Can you help me with that?"  
  
His question came out sounding like a challenge, and she took it, nodding slowly. "You don't know if she's here in London? Or here in England?"  
  
He crossed his arms and leaned against the low counter. "I don't think she's in eighteen fifty-five," he explained. "She did a spell, and she screwed it up. Certainly wasn't the first time. She's always--" realizing he was sharing too much, he cleared his throat and started over. "I need to find her, and the sooner the better."  
  
That didn't surprise her like he'd thought it would, she simply nodded wisely, grabbing ingredients from under the counter, and looking for more on the shelf over his shoulder. "I know of a rather easy spell to find someone, but I'm not sure if it'll work through time." Biting her lip in a very Willow-like way, she moved around the counter, grabbing jars and bottles as she went.  
  
Spike stayed where he was, watching her flit about the shop. It wasn't just her lip-biting that reminded him of Willow, she also moved like her, sort of looked like her... in the way that she didn't really resemble her at all except she was small, had red hair, and was pretty, but other than that, she was nothing like Willow.  
  
"I think this is everything," she mumbled, setting three jars filled with brown things on the counter. "That's about two pounds worth of stuff... can you pay, or are you planning on killing me for them?"  
  
He snickered, finding no end of amusement at her offhanded question, and handed her some of the money he'd taken off a guy earlier in the evening. "And you're doing the spell, right? Because, I have no clue how to do it."  
  
She shrugged. "I could do it if you want me to, but typically--"  
  
"Do it," Spike told her impatiently. "I have to find her, or at least find out when she is, so do it. Light stuff, burn things, chant words," he gestured irritably at the ingredients atop the counter.  
  
She took a jar of sand, stepped back a bit and poured a circle around herself, on the floor. "Yes, Milord."  
  
Her tone was more sarcastic than not, but Spike took umbrage. Complete umbrage. He frowned thunderously, barely keeping himself from draining her. "I am not a lord," he snarled. "Not by a long shot. So keep your insults to yourself."  
  
She didn't bother looking up at him, just continued to mix her herbs. "You used to be." Dumping what looked like a mushroom into a gold-plated bowl, she smoothed a few stray hairs behind her ear.  
  
"No. William used to be. I'm not him." Two different people, they were two different people, why didn't humans get that? Just because he wore the skin of William, didn't mean he was William.  
  
"All right," she said, placating him as she dropped three red flowers into the mixture, "I didn't mean to offend you, M'lo-- um, sir." She lifted her head and smiled apologetically. "I sometimes forget. Vampire, human, not the same person."  
  
"Right," he snorted, not at all mollified, but deciding to drop it. "So how does this work?"  
  
She sat on the floor, closing her eyes. "Tell me about her. The better I know her, the better my chances are of finding her."  
  
Spike sighed heavily. He didn't know anything about Willow, just the basics. "She's, uh, about yea high," he held his hand up to his shoulder, "has red hair, um... oh, she's smart. Real smart, knows all about computers and stuff."  
  
"What are computers?" she asked without opening her eyes. Her hands hovered over the bowl in front of her which was starting to smoke and glow.  
  
Realizing he'd shared too much, once again, he back-pedaled. "They're-- never mind. She's smart is all I'm saying." He pushed away from the counter, walking cautiously closer to her protective circle.  
  
"Mmm," she mumbled.  
  
The glowing in the bowl brightened considerably, turning from dark green to dark blue, and he could've sworn he smelled sulfur burning.  
  
"What else?" The words were whispered, hushed.  
  
Rolling his eyes would be fruitless since she couldn't see it, but he went ahead and did it anyway, feeling justified in his irritation. "I don't know. She's... about twenty years old, in college. Dated a werewolf, became a witch, turned out to be gay, fell in love with a witch, and screwed up the spell to bring us here. Okay? Need more?" he asked sarcastically.  
  
She smiled widely, looking really happy about something. "That's enough, thank you." Her eyes opened, but stared straight ahead, into space. "She's in London. Not in this time though. I can feel..." she stopped suddenly, inhaling as if she'd been sucker-punched, "Pain. So much pain," She turned her eyes to him, pain and fear plain on her face. "He's forcing her to--"  
  
"To what?" Spike ground out, not liking where this was going. If anyone was forcing Willow to do anything, it should damn well be him, not some nameless, faceless bastard who had no right to look at her, much less touch her.  
  
"He's forcing himself on her. He's going to kill her," she gasped out, still looking and sounding like pain was a close personal friend.  
  
There was really no decision making needed, it was obvious what needed to be done. "Send me there, do a spell and--"  
  
She was already shaking her head, wiping at the tears on her cheeks. "I can't. I'm not that skilled yet, I'm still learning."  
  
Spike didn't want to hear it. He stepped inside her supposed magick circle, scattering sea salt across the floor. His boots scuffed and crunched loudly as he grabbed her arms and hauled her up, shaking her fiercely. "Then find someone who can, you bloody phony." He shook her again, feeling such rage that he had to hurt someone, and she was the nearest someone to him at the moment. When she only cried more, he dropped her back to the floor in frustration. "Worthless bitch."  
  
She didn't huddle on the floor, sobbing like he'd expected her to do, no, she stood up, facing him, and Spike knew fear. Her eyes had turned black, and suddenly, her voice was deep and masculine as she stared straight ahead. "Your journey began the moment you did the spell, as did the witch's, neither can be halted now. Continue here, and you'll find her. Try to reach her before your time is done, and you'll lose her."  
  
Spike frowned, unsure what the hell was going on. "Who are you?" He was for damn sure not going to go on the advice of a mystery voice without knowing the who or why of it. "And why do you get to tell me what to do?"  
  
Christine held her hands out, palms toward him. Dark green electricity flitted around them, licking its way up her arms. "I am the stabilizer of time."  
  
"Really?" If he didn't sound impressed, it was because he wasn't. "How neat. What's this got to do with me?"  
  
"You're trying to change what has already been written. Cease." Christine's hands were still aimed at him, even though he was circling around her now. Her eyes were all black and swirly, following him eerily.  
  
"Cease what, exactly?" he asked. "I'm just trying to find the witch. The sooner I do that, the sooner I can get out of here and stop screwing with your time. Isn't that what you want?" He was doing a pretty damn good job of hiding his anger from this thing inhabiting Christine's body, but he was quickly losing his control. What right did this thing have to tell anyone what to do? Time Stabilizer...? Whatever.  
  
"I want nothing. I manage what has already gone wrong." She turned toward him, blinking slowly. "You will inquire about Willow Rosenberg no more, and you will finish out your time here. If you do this, your future is assured. If you do not..." the voice drifted off, the threat obvious.  
  
Spike wasn't satisfied with just a threat, he wanted details. Lighting a cigarette in his typically arrogant fashion, he sniffed importantly, and leaned against the counter. "If I don't, then... what?"  
  
"Both you and Willow will die," the voice explained patiently, before raising her hands higher and letting loose a bolt or two of the green electricity. "And the world shall end."  
  
That was the last thing Spike heard before hitting the wall and falling to the ground in a heap.  
  
  
  
Willow felt Spike's hands tighten around hers as something flowed through her looking for a way out. Her head fell back and her mouth opened, letting the energy escape and envelop the two of them. Darkness followed. She felt no pressure on top of her this time. She opened her eyes carefully, afraid of what she might see. After their last snafu, she'd made sure to concentrate on eighteen-sixty and Drusilla.  
  
She was in an alley. Alone. And it was day. Oh, no. She sat up quickly, ignoring the pounding in her head, and looked around for Spike. He wasn't there. "Spike?" she called, her voice shaking. What if he hadn't come with her? What if he got stuck back in seventeen fifty-three? What if the sun had killed him?  
  
She stood up, looking around the alley for piles of dust. He couldn't be dead. He couldn't have left her here alone. What was she going to do?  
  
"Spike," she yelled, wiping at the tears gathering in her eyes. Now wasn't the time for crying. She had to find Spike, and get somewhere safe. This wasn't a modern alley. Or even an American one, she suspected. It looked like the spell had worked... only she'd lost Spike somewhere. What if he *had* gotten stuck back in seventeen fifty-three? He'd be here now, somewhere, knowing she was on her way... and she was sure he'd be mad. Furious. Raging.  
  
Even though he'd had a hundred and seven years to get over it.  
  
Why did that thought not calm her down? Taking deep breaths, she carefully looked around the alley. Maybe he'd been hurt and she had just missed him on her first glance. Filthy cobblestones on the ground. A stack of wooden crates by a doorway. Trash, and puddles of things she didn't want to know about. Water stains down the walls. But no Spike.  
  
Willow didn't know what to do. Wait here for him in case he'd left her there for some reason? Like sun issues. Or, leave and try to find shelter? With no money, damn it. She looked frantically around. Their bundle of clothes and money was gone. Not that the currency was the same, but still. She could have sold the coins she was sure. And now she was stuck in an alley in who knew what year, what country or what universe even, with no money, no clothes, and no place to stay.  
  
And she still refused to shed any tears. She was an independent woman. Resourceful. A witch. She would figure something out. Until Spike found her? Hopefully? Please?  
  
Chicken, she berated herself. She was being a chicken. She didn't need Spike to get by. It would certainly help, but-- no, damn it. She could do this on her own. She lifted her skirts, and put her hand in her pocket, wrapping her fingers around the small scrap of Spike's torn T-Shirt. It was like a good luck charm, made her feel like he was with her. Of course, so did wearing the T-Shirt that the scrap was from.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she made a decision. First, get out of the alley. Okay. She could do that. Determined now, she headed toward the alley entrance and looked around. Horse drawn carriages, cobblestone streets, women in long gowns, and men in breeches. Yep, this was about the right time. Judging by the accents she heard, it was also the right place.  
  
When she left the alley and started off down the street, she could've sworn that every single person on the street turned to look at her. She looked down self-consciously. Her blue gown was way out of fashion, and Spike's black T-Shirt was sort of noticeable underneath the bodice. At least her bright red jeans weren't.  
  
And no Spike around to blame, she thought with a sad smile.  
  
Keeping her eyes straight ahead, she walked, heading... she didn't know where. An inn? Hotel? Did they have hotels? Not that she had any money to pay for one. Which meant she was quite possibly royally screwed. She was receiving a lot of curious stares, which could be attributed to her own stare into space. Feeling uber uncomfortable, she headed inside the first store she came across.  
  
Oh, not a store. A pub; a nice dark shadowy pub. Good for her!  
  
At this time of day, the place was pretty empty. But there were enough people that, once again, Willow was the center of attention. Something that she had never liked. She preferred to stay on the fringes, blend in the background, not be stared at by the five people in the place.  
  
The room was indeed dark. And smoky. Primarily, the owner had gone with wood as the theme when decorating. Dark, old wood floor, covered in sawdust, wood walls, scarred and pitted, long wooden counter. Even the ceiling was wood. She felt like she'd stepped onto a movie set. The patrons, three men sitting at one of the small round tables that littered the room, were eyeing her curiously. And, ick, lasciviously. She felt extremely under-dressed, even though she had two sets of clothes on.  
  
All three men were at least in their forties, not old per se, 'cause Giles was somewhere around there too, but these men actually looked it. She knew, from statistics, that people didn't live to be very old back then... back now, or whatever, because sickness and disease was rampant.  
  
Two of the men, formerly with their backs to her, were turned around in their seats. One was licking his lips, while the other two were content with downing their drinks and wiping their mouths with the backs of their hands.  
  
Nervous with their attention, she turned to the bar, and the man behind it. Had to be the owner. He was watching her surreptitiously, under the pretext of wiping down the bar. He was young, probably late twenties, handsome, and clean shaven, unlike the three men at the table. His short black hair was slicked back, his dark, almost black eyes, were raised, watching her openly now.  
  
Judging by the possessive glances being sent toward him by the sole woman in the place aside from Willow, he was also taken. The woman was tall and blonde, with hardly a wrinkle on her face. Her brown eyes were warm and inviting, not cold and weary.  
  
In this day and age it was rare to find someone so unaffected by a life of hard work and hard times... especially someone working in a pub. The woman carried a tray of mugs to the table of guys, casting Willow a curious look as she passed her.  
  
Gosh, Willow thought, you'd think they'd never seen a woman with short red hair wearing two sets of clothes before. A giggle threatened, but she managed to hold it back. She went to the bar and sat down on one of the stools. The barkeep, or owner, whoever he was, turned a dazzling smile her way, and walked over.  
  
"Can I help you, lass?" His Irish brogue was familiar after having spent so long in Galway, and Willow found herself smiling back.  
  
"Um, hi. I-- I was just..." she sighed, and started again. "I need a place to stay. I'm new around here," she added. "Is there, uh, maybe an inn or something nearby? Cheap?" Hope laced her voice, not to mention a little desperation. All of which must have been heard by the woman because she sat down next to Willow and smiled.  
  
"Are you lost, love?" she asked kindly. Her accent was all British, not a hint of Irish in there at all. "This isn't a place for the likes of one so young."  
  
Willow nodded frantically. "Lost, yes. I'm lost. And broke... out of money, I mean, and I need somewhere to stay. But, again, there's the lack of money, so... um, yes, I'm lost," she finished softly, hating herself for sounding like such a doofus. Why could she never just say what she wanted to say, rather than babble, and trip over her tongue as it splayed itself all over the floor? Ugh.  
  
The waitress beside her looked Willow up and down appraisingly, and nodded. "You're not in trouble, are you?"  
  
"Trouble?" Willow repeated, not understanding the meaning behind the innocent question. "Not that I know of."  
  
The barkeep, silent until now, finally spoke up. "Are you in the family way, lass?"  
  
"Fam-- no." Nearly laughing aloud at the scandalous look on the woman's face, Willow shook her head. "No, I'm not pregnant. I'm just... stranded."  
  
"Are you looking just for lodging, or are you in need of a job too?" the blonde asked. "My husband, Joe here, has been thinking about hiring another girl." She eyed Willow's short hair with a frown. "You look strong enough to take on the job if you need it, but your hair... have you been ill?"  
  
"Um, no. There was an unfortunate incident with my niece and a-- uh, taffy."  
  
"Taffy?" they both queried, puzzled looks stretched across both their brows.  
  
"A sticky candy, um, sweetmeat," she answered absently. This was quickly turning into another Willow Babble-Fest. "You know, about that job, I'm not sure. I was supposed to meet someone here. In town. My husband, actually. William, is his name. I was supposed to meet him, but he didn't show up, and I don't have anymore money, 'cause I spent it all on the trip here. And now I need a place to stay to wait for him. And new clothes, um, obviously, and money, I guess." She smiled tremulously. "So, maybe I do need a job."  
  
Both Joe and his wife stared at her for a few seconds before realizing she was done babbling. "Honey," the woman began, "um, what's your name, love?"  
  
Willow smiled at the familiar pet name, it made her feel like maybe Spike wasn't so far away after all. "Willow."  
  
She held her hand out to shake before remembering that women didn't do that. She dropped her hand and cleared her throat nervously, noticing that, despite Joe's warning looks at the men behind her, their conversation had never resumed. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that they were watching the three at the bar intently.  
  
"I'm Samantha, and this is my husband Joe. We've got an extra room upstairs for employees, and if you want the job, you're welcome to it."  
  
Willow smiled gratefully at the couple. "I'll take it," she practically yelled. "Um, I mean, yes. Absolutely. Thank you."  
  
Samantha smiled in amusement and put a hand on Willow's shoulder. "Come on, I'll show you your room while Joe teaches these guys some manners." She put an arm around Willow's shoulders and led her around the bar to a door that was almost invisible unless you were right upon it.  
  
Behind the door and straight ahead was a steep, narrow stairwell, while to the right was a hallway that she assumed went to Samantha and Joe's rooms. They went up the stairs in silence and down the short hallway at the top. It was brighter up here because of the row of wall sconces lining both walls on either side of them. A door on the left was standing open, and that's where they headed. Samantha pushed the door open all the way and waved Willow in.  
  
"Here you go. It's nothing fancy, but it has all you need. A bed," she pointed to the double bed against the wall in the middle of the room. "Dressing table," Willow saw the battered wooden table beside the door. "A wash basin," on top of the dressing table. "And a wardrobe." Yep, there it was in the opposite corner from them.  
  
Willow had to force a smile to keep from offending Samantha. She wasn't upset with her room, she just missed her own room. And the gang. And Tara. And, if she let herself admit it, she missed Spike. "Thanks," she said sincerely. "I really appreciate this." Sitting on the bed experimentally, she bounced a few times, or tried to. This being the past, they didn't have springs, they had rope strips tied across a wooden frame in which a straw-filled mattress sat. Just like in Galway. "Um, what will I have to do? My job, I mean."  
  
Samantha stepped over to the wardrobe and pulled it open, showing Willow the dress inside. It was similar to hers, but pale yellow instead of blue. "Serving drinks is all you're to do. Nothing more, nothing less. It's not easy work, but I think you'll be able to handle it." She went to the door and started to shut it, leaving Willow alone with her thoughts. Just before the door clicked shut, she stuck her head back in. "Have a bath, there's a tub down the hall. Get some rest, and you can start tomorrow. Sleep well."  
  
Willow smiled again, feeling like her face was going to get stuck in that position. All this false smiling had to be bad for a person. As soon as the door clicked shut, she fell back on the bed and closed her eyes, feeling exhausted. Time travel took a lot out of a person.  
  
Almost without realizing it, she reached into her front pocket and pulled out the small scrap of Spike's T-Shirt. Rolling over onto her side, she tucked her hands under her cheek, inhaling deeply. 


	9. Time Stitch 9

Disclaimer: See chapter 1, or 6.  
  
PART 9  
  
The pub was extremely busy tonight, and Willow's aching body was screaming for a break. She made her way over to the bar, weaving her way in between customers. Setting her tray on the counter, she rubbed her back and stretched her neck.  
  
Samantha patted her shoulder in empathy as she passed by with a tray full of mugs and pitchers held above her head. It still amazed Willow to see the older woman do that. Willow herself hadn't mastered the technique yet, but she had hope. It had only been a year and eight months.  
  
Ah, who was she kidding? She would never be able to do that unless she used magick, which she wouldn't do. Getting burned at the stake, or stoned to death wasn't on her list of Things To Do While Stuck in the Past.  
  
"Why don't you take a break?" Samantha asked, returning to the bar with an empty tray, and slumping onto a stool beside Willow. "I can hold things down for a bit. Go on," she urged.  
  
Willow shook her head, picking up her tray of mugs. "Nope. I'm good."  
  
Samantha rolled her eyes and shook her head. "That lie doesn't work anymore, remember? I know you, and I know that frown. Go on, take a little time, I've got things here."  
  
Willow hesitated, not wanting to strand her friend alone with all the customers, but Samantha shook her head and pointed to the door. Willow smiled. "Okay, okay, I'm going, just as soon as I drop these off. Slave driver."  
  
Samantha laughed. "And don't you forget it, love. Take your time. More tips for me," she said with a wink.  
  
Willow grinned and rolled her eyes. "More gropes for you too. I'll pass on that, thank you very much." Hefting her tray high, she pushed through the crowd with a lot less grace than Samantha, but quite a bit of skill. The table in the back, where she was headed, was crowded with drunken lords; young men who had too much money and too little sense.  
  
College boys in her time, gentlemen in this time. They acted the same. Groping and laughing, thinking they were God's gift to the population at large. Willow set her tray down on the table, handed out their drinks, and forced a smile when one of them likened her red hair to an orange poppy. As soon as she was finished, she walked away, rolling her eyes and rubbing the two new bruises on her legs from pinching fingers.  
  
As she neared the bar, Stewart, a newer regular, looked up from his conversation with Joe.  
  
"Aye, is he having me on, love?" Stewart asked her, hitching his thumb at Joe. His craggy face and slicked back hair, both weathered and aged, showed disbelief mixed with amusement.  
  
"About what?" she asked, tossing a glance at Joe as she set her tray on the counter. Joe gave her his best, most charming smile, trying to look innocent, and failing miserably. She had to laugh, knowing exactly what it was they were discussing. "He's not having you on, but I think he stretches the truth a bit."  
  
Now Joe looked offended. "I'm not stretching any sort of truth. It happened just as I've said it did."  
  
"Mmm, I've no doubt it happened. The part I have trouble with is how a man so rude could be considered a guardian angel," Willow said, slipping behind the bar to grab her cloak. November in London was cold and wet, and the simple thin material of her dress wouldn't provide much in the way of warmth. She was just glad that styles these days were less revealing in the breast area, and a little more cover-uppish than they were in Galway a century before.  
  
"'Tis true he was rude, but he was kind enough to pay for the bottle of whiskey and leave a couple extra coins on the table that were worth enough to buy this pub. Even suggested it, he did." Joe eyed her cloak as she wrapped it around her shoulders. "Where you going, then? Taking in the fine London air again?" He shook his head, frowning. "Be careful, lass."  
  
Samantha breezed by on her way to another table, sharing a smile with Willow at Joe's mothering. "I always am. Careful Willow, that's what they call me." At their blank looks, she shook her head dismissively. "Um, never mind. Joe, thanks for the worry, but I'll be right outside."  
  
He shook his head again, filling a pitcher with ale and setting it on Samantha's tray as Willow slipped from behind the bar. She wove through the crowd to get to the door, letting out a relieved sigh as the cool night air hit her face. Leaning back against the wall and inhaling deeply, she pulled the pins from her hair, letting it fall free from the loose bun she'd had it in. I should cut it, she thought. Long hair was the style, but for her, it was just annoying. She took another deep breath, and closed her eyes.  
  
By now, she was used to the stifling air of London, the cold, wet weather, and the fact that she was stuck in the past. Alone. No, not alone. She had Samantha and Joe now. But, it had taken her a while to come to terms with it. She'd been angry, spending all her time away from Joe's Pub searching for the British vampire that had stranded her here. She'd searched for him during the day, going to every place she could find that had lodging, and then moved on to empty warehouses and abandoned buildings. She hadn't seen hide nor bleached hair of the jerk.  
  
Desperation had taken her to the local apothecary in search of the ingredients to do the time travel spell. She'd tried it three times, but nothing happened. Apparently Spike was needed for the spell to work. Which meant that he hadn't gotten stuck in seventeen fifty-three. More likely he'd gone somewhere else, like her. She'd ended up in March of eighteen fifty-nine instead of eighteen sixty. And now, here she was over a year and a half later, working in a British pub, living on her own, and taking care of herself.  
  
She'd dealt with her insecurities, gotten over them, and realized that it wasn't so bad. Eighteen fifty-nine hadn't been terrible, and eighteen sixty was even better. Not a bad time to be stuck in. She just hoped Spike was doing as well as she was. She hoped he was still alive. Undead, whatever.  
  
A man stumbled out the door, startling her. Her hand fell to her sleeve, and the stake hidden there. When he apologized and nodded politely to her before leaving, Willow relaxed. In the year and eight months that she'd been here, she had only run into a total of four vampires, and all of them had been in the abandoned buildings she'd been searching. None had survived long enough to snack on anyone else. She had a few new bite marks added to the six previous ones, but they weren't in visible places. And the vamp that bit her had been killed in a very un-Willow-like way.  
  
Until that night she'd had no idea how good revenge felt, even if it was a fleeting feeling. A few hours later, as she cried herself to sleep, she realized that some of her tears were for what she'd done to the vampire, rather than what he'd done to her.  
  
Neither Sam or Joe knew, thankfully. She didn't want anyone to know. Besides, they'd probably keep her locked up in her room if they found out. And with good reason. But she needed to be out there. Looking for Spike and Drusilla.  
  
Gathering her cloak tighter around her shoulders, Willow sat down on the bench Joe had put there a few months after she arrived. Samantha and Willow often sat on the bench, watching people as they hurried about their own lives. People watching. She'd never known how much fun it could be just to watch people. To make up stories about who or what they were.  
  
A breeze blew a lock of her hair into her face, and she sighed, securing it with the hairpins again. What she wouldn't give for a nice headband, or barrette, or even one of those scrunch-y things. As it was, she could hardly keep it out of her face and eyes. She stood up, ready to go back inside when she heard a woman scream from a nearby alley.  
  
She headed down the street with only the briefest of hesitation. Whether it be a human or demon attacker, she was prepared. A stake would deter both. She hoped.  
  
The gas lamps along the street didn't light the way very well, but she knew these streets almost as well as she did Sunnydale's. Another muffled yell came just as she rounded the corner, and she pulled her stake free, creeping forward quickly, but quietly. Pretty sure the scream had come from the same alley she'd first arrived in, she tamped down on the fear threatening to take hold of her, and moved toward it, peering into the obscuring night.  
  
A tall man with shoulder length dark hair was holding a small brunette woman against the wall. One of his legs was between hers, both of his hands were on her shoulders, and his face was at her neck. Vampire?  
  
Willow shuddered, memories of herself struggling against a vampire coming unbidden to mind. A dirty abandoned warehouse, cold night air on her naked skin, a flash of blonde hair. Gleaming yellowed teeth ripping at her stomach. Pain, and blood. The bruises had faded and the bite marks had scarred, but inside, she sometimes still felt like an open wound.  
  
Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Willow moved forward, lifting her stake high.  
  
"Please, don't kill me," the woman whimpered, horror spreading across her face as a growl sounded. Her eyes widened, and she looked around desperately for help. When she saw Willow, her struggles increased. "Help me," she screamed.  
  
Willow groaned silently, and straightened up. So much for the element of surprise. The vampire loosened his grip on the frightened woman, and she fell to the ground, sobbing. She wasted no time in running out of the alley, freeing herself and leaving Willow to face the vampire alone.  
  
You're welcome, Willow thought, sarcastically.  
  
The vampire turned around, vampire visage on, snarl on his lips, growl in his throat, and Willow gasped.  
  
"Oh, God," she whispered, her eyes widening. Running now, would be good. Real good. She turned and did just that, fleeing the alley, fleeing Angelus. Unfortunately, he had that vampire speed-thing going for him, and she didn't make it ten steps before his hand grabbed her wrist and spun her around. Just as it had over a hundred years ago in Galway, Willow's head hit the brick wall, stunning her. Wow, the memories. No, more like, wow, the pain.  
  
He looked exactly the same as the last time she'd seen him. Minus the dying part. Dark hair pulled back with a leather thong, long coat--must be a vampire thing--brown eyes watching her curiously. She found no evidence of Angel in him, just the demon. He wouldn't have a soul for another twenty-nine years or so... too late for her. She tightened her hand on the stake and waited. For what, she didn't know. She couldn't kill him, that would screw up the future so badly she was sure she'd go to hell for doing it.  
  
So, what was she supposed to do? Lay down and die? Oh no, not I, I will survive, she thought with a giggle, the Gloria Gaynor song playing in her mind.  
  
Angelus stood a few feet away, watching her curiously. His hand plucked the stake from her unresisting hand, and held it up to her face. "You carry a stake, so you obviously know about vampires. Why then did you run, Red?" His Irish brogue was still there, Willow noted, but it was much fainter than it had been.  
  
"Don't call me that," she said automatically, then could've bitten her tongue when he tilted his head to one side, watching her closely. Her words had possibly done what her changed looks had not. Maybe she should use the slight British accent she occasionally slipped into without noticing. Would that keep him from recognizing her?   
  
He moved closer, his eyes roaming over her neck. "That's quite a collection of bite marks you've got there..." his eyes lifted to hers, and he smiled cruelly, "Red."  
  
Willow's jaw tightened and her knee shot up, catching him in the crotch. He let go of her in surprise, but then grabbed her again as she ran past him. "Not so fast," he ground out. "I think you and I should get better acquainted. Don't you?" His hand tightened around her wrist.  
  
When Angel had first turned back into Angelus and grabbed her around the neck in the high school, threatening to kill her... well, that had been child's play compared to this. Right now, there was no help for her. Xander wasn't just down the hall, Ms. Calendar wasn't holding up a cross, and Buffy wasn't moving toward them. Fear settled in the pit of her stomach, disgust joined it, and the two of them partied with revulsion.  
  
She was on her own. "Better acquainted? Um, no, that's okay. I think we're just enough acquainted. I don't need more. So, I'll be going..."  
  
She tried to free her wrist from his bruising grip, but he wasn't budging. She chanced a glance up at his face and had to hold back a groan. He was baffled, a little lost, and a lot vamped out. Escape wasn't looking too good right now.  
  
"You talk too much, lass." He started to drag her out of the alley with him.  
  
Willow yanked continually on her arm, not caring that she was either going to break it, dislocate it, or sprain it... it didn't matter. If she went with Angelus, she would never see the light of day again. She would end up either dead, or a vampire, or worse. Of all the things he could do to her, it was the 'worse' part that had her scared to death. She yanked even harder. She also kicked him a few times, making it difficult for him to drag her along and dodge her feet. Not content with that, she screamed and hit him with her free hand.  
  
Finally, Angelus stopped, and elation shot through her. It was too much trouble to drag her through the streets, and they were attracting too much attention. He had to let her go. It was the smartest thing to do.  
  
She had only enough time to realize how wrong she was when his fist came flying at her, knocking her out.  
  
  
  
Willow stared at the vampire across the room from her, all the contempt and disgust she felt for him in that one look. She ignored the fearful pounding of her heart, the pain in her jaw from his fist to her face, and the blood trickling down her lip. She'd have plenty of time for that later, right now she wanted to let Angelus know how much she hated him.  
  
Maybe that way he'd kill her instead of turning her. Kill her instead of crawling on top of her, touching, and biting, and groping. She swallowed hard, knowing she had to get hold of herself, otherwise panic would overwhelm her.  
  
She shivered, something she pretty much hadn't stopped doing since waking up here. The abandoned townhouse they were in was cold and breezy, not to mention empty, both of humans and demons aside from the two of them. And it was a grand place too; old, ripped wallpaper on the walls, threadbare carpets, water-stained ceilings, broken pieces of furniture... it just screamed 'evil vampire lair'.  
  
She idly wondered where Darla was, but had more important staring to do. Angelus was playing with something in the corner, and from the soft clink of metal, she was afraid she knew what it was. Chains. But, it was too dark for her to see across the former parlor and through Angelus' back.  
  
Finally, he turned around and walked over to where she was, tied to a chair. She now knew how Spike had felt earlier that year. Or, whenever. After coming to Giles and Buffy for help. She knew what it felt like to be trussed up like a Christmas turkey, and if she ever saw him again, she would sincerely apologize to him. Profusely even. Heck, she wasn't too proud, she'd get down and kiss his feet if it meant she could live through this.  
  
Angelus ran a finger down her cheek, and she wrenched her head out of his reach, revulsion once again making an appearance.  
  
"You're a pretty one, darlin'. You remind me of someone, only I can't figure out who." He shook his head, tossing away the memories.  
  
"Look, um, Mr. Vampire... you don't want to hurt me. O-- or kill me. It would be bad," she insisted. "Very bad."  
  
Angelus laughed at her pathetic attempts to reason with him.  
  
She turned steady eyes to his. "I'm a witch. I'll... curse you. Yep. Boils and-- and warts too."  
  
He left the room, paying her no attention. She stared after him in confusion. Was he going to leave her tied here to starve? Or die of exposure? What was going on here?  
  
What do you care? she thought. At least he's not doing other things. Alone is good, very good.  
  
Licking her dry lips, she shifted her feet into a more comfortable position and waited. Cold air blew under her skirt from the broken window beside her, forcing another shiver from her.  
  
As long as he didn't touch her, she was fine. As long as he didn't try to do anything to her, she could stand it. Every time he touched her, she shuddered in disgust and revulsion, but it was tolerable. For now.  
  
He came back into the room a few minutes later, while Willow was trying to magically free herself from the shackles. More magick studying was in store for her when she got back to her own time. If she ever got back. Hearing a noise to her left, she opened her eyes and watched as Angelus strode toward her. He wasted no time with talking, or pleasantries. He simply grabbed her by her hair and yanked her head back.  
  
She screamed as his mouth descended to her neck, his fangs sliding into the flesh too easily. The familiar sucking feeling that accompanied vampire bites began immediately, and she panicked. She screamed and tried to pull away from his touch, feeling like insects were crawling along her flesh wherever his hands touched her. His lips felt like leeches. Bile rose to her throat and she barely kept herself from throwing up on him.  
  
Blood loss was making her dizzy and she started to lose consciousness. Finally, in desperation, she whispered, "You can't kill me."  
  
He pulled away from her neck, and she almost cheered. If it weren't for the darkness closing in on her vision, she may well have done just that. But then he slapped her cheek a few times, waking her up and forcing her to remember what was happening.  
  
"I can do that and more," he said harshly, yanking hard on her hair.  
  
Willow blinked at him. "What do you want?"  
  
Angelus shrugged, grinning. "Would you be flattered if I said you?"  
  
She bit her lip, and shook her head frantically. Tears pricked her eyes and she let them fall. There was no way she could go through that again. None. She cleared her throat. "I'd rather you kill me."  
  
He seemed to consider her words... for all of five seconds, then his brown eyes snapped back to hers and she could see laughter there. "No."  
  
Panic threatened to choke her, and desperation forced her to try magick again. She didn't bother with asking the Goddess for protection, at this point she didn't care about that. She closed her eyes and dropped her head to her chest, speaking the Latin words for release and free. Suddenly, the ropes around her loosened and dropped to the floor. Angelus stood up, backing away from her. Grabbing the chair before he came to his senses, she swung it at him, hitting him in the head and knocking him out. He fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.  
  
She raised the chair over her head and brought it down on him again and again. He was battered and bleeding by the time she realized what she was doing and dropped the chair on top of him. Grabbing one of the chair legs that had broken off, she hastily left the abandoned house. Heading toward Joe's pub, she took a shortcut through one of the nicer streets.  
  
People were milling about, some stopped to stare at her, and she looked down at herself. One sleeve was torn, hanging half off her shoulder. Her skirts were filthy and ripped. Blood dripped into the bodice of her dress from her neck wound. Dried blood was on her now swollen and bruised jaw. Her hair had fallen from the bun, and was flying about her face in the breeze. She must look like an escapee from a mental asylum. Looking quickly around, she spotted a church up ahead and ran to it. Sticking the make-shift stake into her good sleeve, she blended in with the crowd and entered the church.  
  
Being Jewish, and later Wiccan, Willow hadn't spent much time in churches. Even still, she knew exactly where to go thanks to the Galway, and all the numerous vampires and demons that inhabited Sunnydale. In the entryway, she went directly to the holy water and, not caring who saw her, or what they thought of her, she dipped her hands in the brass bowl and used them like a cup. She drank down two handfuls, hearing shocked whispers, and gasps, but she paid them no attention. She turned around to leave, and bumped into a small group of well-dressed women.  
  
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, keeping her head down, and her eyes on the maroon gown of the woman in front of her.  
  
The woman steadied Willow with a hand to her arm, surprising Willow. "Are you all right?" she asked softly.  
  
Willow's head shot up and she stared into the face of the woman she'd been searching for for almost two years. Drusilla. A completely sane and human Drusilla.  
  
Drusilla was a very beautiful woman when she wasn't insane. Or a vampire. Or trying to kill her. Her long, dark brown hair was pulled back elegantly, and her gown fit her to a tee. Probably tailor made. She wasn't quite as thin as she'd been in Sunnydale. Of course, she'd been sick then.  
  
Willow could understand Spike's fascination with her. His almost obsessive love for the dark-haired beauty. And in no way did she envy this woman for it.  
  
Realizing that she was blocking traffic, and staring at Drusilla like she was a freak in a sideshow carnival, she mumbled, "I... I'm... yes. I'm fine." She wanted to warn Drusilla. Tell her to stay away from tall dark-haired men with long teeth, but she knew she couldn't do that. Just as she couldn't kill Angelus, she couldn't prevent Drusilla being made, and Spike, in turn.  
  
Spike, she thought excitedly. Is he around? Is he here?  
  
She smiled at Drusilla, and nodded. "I'm all right now. Thank you." She started to walk away, when Drusilla suddenly grabbed her shoulder and pulled her away from the other two girls, who were doing their best to ignore Willow.  
  
"Don't go," Drusilla pleaded, her eyes begging the smaller girl to stay. "You're changing things. Don't change too much, or we'll all die." She shook her head slightly, as if to clear it, and smiled a little in confusion.  
  
Willow stared at Drusilla. Wow, that psychic thing was really working tonight. Too bad it wasn't more specific, like, 'Don't go outside, Angelus is out there' or maybe, 'Spike is one block over, two blocks down, second house on the left'. That would be helpful.  
  
"Thank you, I understand," Willow told her, then couldn't help adding, "Be safe." With one last look at the love of Spike's life--unlife--willow ran out the door, looking around. A few people still wandered about, heading toward the church, but there was no sign of Spike. And, thankfully, Angelus.  
  
Her steps were quick, but full of despair as she made her way across the street. She would wait here in the shadows until Drusilla went home, then she would follow her. Maybe Spike would be there. If he already knew Dru's routine, maybe he hadn't felt the need to follow her to church, a place he probably wasn't too fond of. Maybe he was dead. Maybe he didn't care anymore, and just wanted to live out the next century by himself.  
  
Sure were a lot of maybes. She sat down on the curb, making sure to stay well hidden, and let the tears fall. Again. What was she? A baby? No, but she was tired of being alone in a strange country, during a strange time. Tired of being bitten, and attacked. Tired of death and destruction. Tired of not having anyone she could really talk to, really confide in.  
  
She drew her knees up and rested her elbows on them, dropping her head into her hands. Her life sucked. It wasn't even a life. It was an existence. Barely living. She was waiting more than anything else. Waiting for something to happen so that she could go home to her real life. Though sometimes, real life blurred into this existence she was living now, and she was left to wonder if it was real, or a dream. Those times were few and far between, but they still plagued her.  
  
After that last vampire attack, the one before Angelus, she had fallen into a depression that Samantha barely helped her out of. She'd kept her silence about the cause, allowing Sam to think it was because her husband hadn't shown up for her. That was also a part of the problem, Spike's absence. Though the main reason was the almost successful rape by a vampire the night before. She stayed in bed for a week; didn't get up; didn't work; didn't get dressed; hardly ate. Samantha finally had to force her to get up. Literally, she picked her up and dropped her into a cold bath.  
  
During that week, Willow had dreamed a lot, mostly about Sunnydale. Xander, Buffy, and Giles were the most prevalent. Tara showed up a few times too, but not as often as Willow thought she should have. It wasn't until a few weeks later that Willow realized why. She wasn't in love with Tara anymore. She still loved her, but she didn't feel that all-consuming passion for her. Didn't feel the ache that accompanies absence. But, she wasn't sad... in fact, at the time, she'd been relieved. The thought of going back to her old life and resuming her relationship with Tara had disgusted her. The thought of being with anyone disgusted her.  
  
"Where you been, Red?" a soft voice asked from directly behind her. "I've been looking all over for you."  
  
She jumped up, but that was as far as she made it. A hand snaked around her neck and held her still. Another hand smoothed down her hair. "Can't you take a hint?" she muttered in frustration. Dropping her arm straight at her side, she shook it a bit, until the makeshift stake hidden there fell into her hand.  
  
Angelus' laughter held no amusement. His arm tightened around her neck, almost cutting off her air. "No. Never was very good at takin' hints." He grabbed the stake from her hand just as she swung it toward his leg. His hand crushed hers until she let go, and the stake clattered to the ground at her feet.  
  
"Obviously," she ground out, tired of being manhandled. Why was it that every vampire she'd ever come across had to grab and hold and grope and touch and... what did they think humans were? Their personal playthings?  
  
More like chew toys, she thought with an hysterical giggle.  
  
The giggle died in throat when his hand moved back to her hair. She was angry and exhausted, and still waiting for the adrenaline to leave her system from earlier, and damn it, what was Angelus' problem? "Look, if you kill me, you'll be real upset later on, okay? Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but in about twenty nine years or so. So do yourself a favor and just say no." Just call her movie quotes and cliché central.  
  
The dark night was suddenly lit up with warm yellow light from the church doors opening. People slowly meandered out the doors and down the street while Angelus held her still, nearly choking the life out of her. A familiar figure, with her two companions, left the church and started off down the middle of the road, laughing and talking. Willow groaned aloud, seeing her one chance at finding Spike slipping away.  
  
Hidden in the shadows as they were, Willow knew no one could see them, and in this day and age, even if they were seen, would anyone help her? She doubted it.  
  
Drusilla was almost out of sight when she suddenly stopped and turned around, facing them. They were a good thirty yards away, cloaked in darkness and partially behind a tree, and yet, Willow could have sworn Dru's eyes locked with hers.  
  
"Friend of yours?" Angelus whispered. The hand he was using to smooth her hair down in a parody of caring, slid down to encircle her waist, holding her still when she tried to pull away. She sucked in a breath to yell for help, but his mouth by her ear made her freeze. "Ah-ah, not a word. I have plans for you, and she's not invited. Yet."  
  
Willow watched in dread as Drusilla motioned her friends to wait for her, then glided gracefully toward her and Angelus. Her steps didn't falter, and her gaze never wavered. As Drusilla neared them, her eyes glazed over and her face grew cloudy. When she was directly in front of them, Angelus stepped forward with Willow, just enough to put them in the light.  
  
"You're not an angel," she told Angelus, "not an angel at all. You've had your wings clipped." She smiled sweetly and leaned forward conspiratorially, none of the insane vampire in residence yet. "You're going to get new ones."  
  
Angelus' hold on Willow loosened a bit. Just enough for her to breathe easy again. His voice, when he spoke, was seductive and enticing, his brogue more pronounced. "And is it an angel you're lookin' for, darlin'?"  
  
Willow rolled her eyes. She certainly hoped Angel had the sense to be ashamed of himself when she got back to Sunnydale. He was pathetically cheesy in his overtures. To her surprise, the mouse bit.  
  
Drusilla seemed uncertain at first, then she smiled and took a step forward, her eyes locked on Angelus'. Willow's shock knew no bounds when Angelus suddenly released her and took a step toward Drusilla.  
  
Once again, Willow was forgotten in Angelus' pursuit of a woman. She should feel slighted, or hurt, and if she had any type of romantic feelings toward the vampire, she would've been. But all she could feel now was relief. And gratitude to Fate or Destiny or the Powers That Be... whoever seemed determined to keep Angelus' life on track. She watched as Angelus hooked Drusilla's arm through his and walked her back to her friends.  
  
Drusilla smiled sweetly while the other two girls simpered and flirted. The pair hardly paid them any attention, they were focused entirely on each other. So much so, in fact, that they didn't see Willow slip into the shadows.  
  
And again, she had a dilemma. Leave and be safe, maybe never find Spike? Or follow Dru and Angelus, risk Angelus nabbing her--again--and increase her chances of finding Spike? The choice was already made, she realized, as her feet started her walking in the opposite direction from Joe's Pub.  
  
Damn. 


	10. Time Stitch 10

Disclaimer: See chapter 1, or 6.  
  
PART 10  
  
Willow fell into bed a few hours later, exhausted and sore. She'd followed Angelus and Drusilla to her house, where, amazingly enough Angelus hadn't hurt anyone. Apparently he still planned to drive her insane first. To Willow's disappointment, there'd been no sign of Spike at all. After Angelus left, Willow had carefully examined the entire area surrounding Drusilla's house, not sure what she expected to find.  
  
A cigarette butt? Spike and Dru's names carved into a tree?  
  
Regardless of what she expected, she found nothing, except the fact that Dru's house was only a mile or so away from the pub, and the church she'd met her at earlier was one that Willow had checked months before. So, vowing to return the next night, she went back to the pub, running through explanation after explanation.  
  
Which meant lie after lie.  
  
She'd cleaned up as best she could on her way. Letting her hair down to cover the bloody wound at her neck. Straightening her clothes. Combing her fingers through the tangled mass of her hair. There was nothing she could do to hide the bruise on her jaw, or the ring of bruises on her wrist, but she hoped that Joe and Sam wouldn't see them.  
  
A lengthy discussion followed their first sight of her. Her three hour absence had left them worried, but knowing she was safe overcame any anger they might have felt. Tales of a lost and hurt little girl, a mugger... a frightened child not wanting to be alone in the hospital. And finally, a quick bath to wash away the filth of Angelus' touch. And the blood and dirt too.  
  
Now she was under the covers in her own bed, the small strip of black cloth once again clutched tightly in her hand. It was almost like a life preserver. When she felt overwhelmed, or sad, or, well... it didn't really matter what she was feeling, she usually pulled the scrap of cloth out from under her pillow and held it while she slept.  
  
But tonight, instead of falling asleep, she was wide awake. The more time that passed, the further away Sunnydale felt. Her only chance at getting home was with Spike, but after almost two years, and no sign from him, she had to consider the fact that he might be dead. She didn't want to believe that. The spell had worked. She'd come almost to the time he wanted. A little early, but closer than the first time. So, where was he? Had he landed in another time? Was he home? In Sunnydale?  
  
Rolling over, she allowed herself to think the unthinkable. She was stuck in the past for the rest of her life. What was she supposed to do here? Was time being affected by her absence? She'd run into Angelus twice, but she had no memories of Angel mentioning their encounters. He may have kept silent, not knowing if it was her or not. Or he didn't want to alter what she did in the past. Most likely he didn't remember her.  
  
Or, the changes weren't taking affect until she returned... if she ever did.  
  
She wiped the tears from her cheeks in impatience. She'd done more crying in the past twelve hours than she'd done in the past month. But this time, she wasn't crying for herself, she was crying for Spike.  
  
She hadn't fully realized it until tonight, but she missed him. She missed his sarcastic comments, his voice, his face, his body curled around hers in the night. Rolling onto her side again, she inhaled deeply, wishing his scent was still on the strip of cloth in her hand, or the T-Shirt she wore as a nightgown.  
  
  
  
Casting one last glance at Drusilla's window, Willow turned away and started back to Joe's. Three nights she'd watched Dru's house, waiting for Spike to show up, but as yet, he was a no-show, and she was almost convinced that he was dead. Otherwise, wouldn't he be here? Watching over the woman he loved? Being near her?  
  
A tired sigh escaped her as she walked along the empty street. The full moon overhead cast yellow light over everything not shadowed by trees or houses, it was a sickly color, filtering through the branches, and coating the cobblestone streets. A carriage clattered past her, but she hardly noticed it, which really struck her. She was so used to this time and place, that it wasn't unusual to her anymore.  
  
A hand grabbed her shoulder and yanked her out of the street. Startled, she looked up from her musings and watched as another fast moving carriage barreled past her. She discreetly pulled away from the man's hand, barely registering his handsome face, and dark blonde hair. What she did note was that his skin was pale and cold, and though pale was the style, it most likely meant vampire.  
  
"Thank you, sir," she mumbled, walking around him. If he was a vampire, he probably wouldn't let her go. She walked a little faster, holding her breath, and waiting.  
  
Vampire.  
  
A cold hand slid around her neck and pulled her back against a hard chest. Her first instinct was to scream. Her second was to run. Screaming would get her nowhere, and running wasn't an option, she'd be caught after only a few steps, so she fought back the panic that was coursing through her, dropped her stake from her sleeve and spun around with it, holding it firmly against the vampire's heart. "Your first mistake was saving me, your second was touching me. There won't be a third."  
  
She swung the stake back and brought it forward again, crying out in pain when he grabbed her hand, stopping the stake just before it made contact. To her surprise, his grip on her wrist loosened at her yelp of pain. But he didn't let go. He was too busy looking her over. She resisted the urge to look down at herself; she already knew what she was wearing. High-collared midnight blue cotton dress, trimmed in white lace and tiny black buttons. Black cloak. Hair in a chignon. Fashionable stake clutched in her fist.  
  
His gaze, when it finally returned to her face, was blank. She flicked her eyes over his black Hessians, black breeches, white shirt, and black cloak. Wow, a lot of thought must have gone into that outfit, she though derisively. Moving her gaze up, she took in his clenched jaw, intense pale blue eyes... familiar blue eyes. Her heart skipped a beat. This couldn't be him, finally. Could it? She wouldn't let herself get her hopes up.  
  
Until she saw the scar on his eyebrow.  
  
"Spike?" she whispered, hope making her voice shake. She was so afraid that she was just seeing what she wanted to see.  
He shrugged lazily, a grin turning up the corners of his mouth. "Sure as hell ain't Elvis."  
  
Willow was rooted to the spot, unsure of what she wanted to do. Hug him because she was relieved, and she'd missed him? Yell at him for stranding her here alone? Or slap him for forcing her to do the spell in the first place?  
  
He stumbled back a few steps when she threw herself at him, hugging him so tight that, had he not been a vampire, he would've had breathing issues. He laughed, wrapping his arms around her, his deep voice enveloping her as much as his arms did.  
  
"Miss me, pet?" he chuckled in her ear.  
  
"No," she mumbled, her voice muffled by his chest. "Not one whit."  
  
"Yeah," he agreed, "me either."  
  
Willow chuckled, pulling away. Her smile faded into a frown as she got a good look at him. His hair was pretty long--as was stylish these days--and no longer in a bleached way. "Where did you go? 'Cause I looked all over for you, and--"  
  
He looked past her, shaking his head. "This little reunion's gonna have to wait, love. Something's near. Probably a less friendly vampire." He grabbed her hand and pulled her along. "You got somewhere we can go?"  
  
Willow had to run to keep up with him, and that was no easy feat. "Yeah, I have a place, but-- slow down, Spike. Short, human type person here." She stopped and yanked her hand from his. "I think I should warn you, Sam's not gonna be happy to see you."  
  
Spike raised an eyebrow at her. "He your lover? You're cheating on the witch? I am shocked and amazed, Red." He looked almost proud of her.  
  
Willow rolled her eyes. "Sam's a she. Short for Samantha, and she's--"  
  
"A woman? Go, Red," he said with respect. He grinned slyly, and nudged her arm. "I'd like to request front row seats. Is there audience participation, or is it just a spectator sport?"  
  
Willow sighed in amusement. Spike hadn't changed a bit, except physically. "Still perverted, I see."  
  
He nodded, his face serious. "'Til the end, love."  
  
"Okay, and we're moving on to reality. Samantha is married to Joe who owns--"  
  
"A threesome, huh?" He sniffled and wiped an imaginary tear from his dry eye, giving her a one-armed maternal hug. "My baby's all grown up. It happens so fast..."  
  
"Oh, brother." She smoothly shrugged out from under his arm, a little uncomfortable with his touch. He was her friend. Sort of. Well, okay, he was her time travel companion. She should feel comfortable around him. Was she going to have to constantly worry about whether or not he was going to touch her? That was definitely not something she wanted on her mind. Starting off down the street, she shook her head, leaving him to catch up with her. "Gosh, I guess we're past that awkward silence part that can sometimes happen after long absences."  
  
Spike shrugged dismissively. "Who needs that? Get right into the thick of things, that's what I always say. So... where's this place of yours?"  
  
Willow stopped in front of Joe's Pub and gestured to the door. "This is it. Couple things you ought to know before we go in though. You're my husband, William. You left me stranded here, and I haven't seen you since. And, um," she thought for a minute. "I guess that's it. Let's have fun out there, kids."  
  
Spike waggled his eyebrows. "Husband, huh? I think I can play the part. Lots of public displays of affection are called for, I think." He reached for her, but she quickly moved away from him.  
  
"No." Sounded a bit rude, she realized, so she softened her tone. "I mean, um, Samantha wouldn't buy it. You know, the touchy feely thing after this long. So, uh... let's go." She unlocked the door, ignoring his frown. Since she hadn't left Joe's until after it closed, she was hoping they wouldn't still be up and about to ask questions. She wanted some time alone with Spike to get the lowdown on where he'd been.  
  
"This place looks familiar," Spike muttered, looking around the darkened room.  
  
Willow grinned back at him. "Maybe you were here in a past life."  
  
His eye roll told her how much he appreciated her attempt at humor. "Yeah right. I think I've been here before. In this life," he added with a chuckle.  
  
"Spike in a bar? Say it ain't so," she said, feigning shock. She ducked away from his hand with a laugh when he swatted half-heartedly at her. "Well, this is it, Rebecca... this is the valley."  
  
Spike's eyebrows rose a bit in confusion. "What?" He looked a little lost... well, actually, he looked a lot lost, and she couldn't blame him, it was an obscure reference.  
  
She shook her head with another laugh. "Nothing. Just a stupid commercial they used to show. Xander and I used to say it a lot... it just sort of stuck."  
  
He still looked really lost, but all he did was nod.  
  
Thankfully Sam and Joe didn't come rushing out to greet them. The place remained dark and empty. Looked like she would get some quiet time with Spike after all. Saying a tiny prayer of thanks, Willow locked the door behind her and quietly led Spike through the darkened pub.  
  
He stopped by the bar, grabbed a bottle of whiskey from one of the shelves behind the counter, and waited for her to continue. "Lead on." Just before he exited the bar area, he stopped and took another look around. "Hang on. I *have* been here. That first night, I ended up not far from here. Stopped in for, uh, information--"  
  
"You mean a drink," Willow corrected with a grin. "That's kind of weird, 'cause this is the first place I ended up too. Not for a drink, but for a place to get away from the stares of-- wait a minute! You *are* the angel! I used to think you were, but--"  
  
Spike narrowed his eyes at her, probably none too happy with her choice of words. "Ain't no sort of angel. You take that back," he ordered, sounding very petulant.  
  
She laughed, unable to believe Spike was the man Joe had been talking about this whole time. "Did you come in here a few years ago and pay for a bottle of whiskey with an antique coin?"  
  
"Yeah, that first night." He paused, thinking back. "I also left a few more on the table, forgetting they were worth so much. But, in my defense, I was a little preoccupied with ending up Willow-less, and at the wrong time." He shrugged, as if it didn't matter.  
  
Ignoring his disinterest, she hurried on excitedly, convinced she was right. "It had to have been you, it's so obvious now. White hair," she snickered a little. She'd always assumed it was a distinguished, older man. "And gray eyes... but, hey, you're eyes are blue." She frowned, then shook her head, undeterred by the discrepancies. "This place is pretty dark. The old Irish coin fits though, and the accent." She laughed lightly, feeling a sense of giddiness. She'd found Spike and solved a myth all in one night. Her work here was done.  
  
"Yeah, sounds just like me," he agreed sarcastically. "So why the angel status?" He uncorked the bottle, taking a big long swig of the fiery liquid.  
  
"You gave the coin to Joe. Irish guy behind the bar? His wife, Samantha, was your friendly neighborhood waitress."  
  
"And?" he encouraged, tipping the bottle back a second time, taking another healthy swig.  
  
He wasn't as pleased as she was by the story. She could understand that. Still, it irked her. "And you gave him one of our coins from Galway."  
  
He nodded. "Yeah, you said that. What of it?"  
  
"He bought this place from the owner and turned it into the popular pub it is today." She shook her head with a laugh. "They refer to you as an angel."  
  
"Huh." Again he nodded.  
  
That's it? Well, okay, he hadn't lived with hearing the story told a hundred different times. He wasn't one of the regulars who could recite the story by heart. Still, he could show a little interest. "Because they own this place, I have somewhere to live. That might not have happened."  
  
"Good on them, then." He ducked his head around the doorway, glancing at the stairway. "Upstairs?"  
  
Slightly disgruntled at his lack of enthusiasm, Willow sighed and held a finger to her lips, heading up to her room. She held the door open for Spike, and once he was through, she shut it, and leaned back against it. He wanted business, then fine. That's what he'd get. "So?" she inquired.  
  
Spike tossed her a look. Setting the bottle down beside the bed, he examined her room. "Nice place. How long you been here?" He took off his cloak, dropped himself and the cloak to the bed and leaned back against the headboard.  
  
"You first," she told him, staring at her quilt under his boots. The image was so odd, that she couldn't quite wrap her mind around it. She pushed away from the door with a yawn. These late nights were wearing her out. But, now that she'd found Spike, hopefully the late nights would end after her shift rather than hours later. Or, ooo, even better... end altogether. Maybe now they could go home. To Sunnydale. She unbuttoned her cloak and tossed it on the bed.  
  
Spike uncorked the whiskey bottle and took a long drink, then leaned back and relaxed. "Well," he began, sounding like a teacher during story time, "it all started when a certain witch--who shall remain nameless--screwed up a spell, and sent me to the wrong time. Twice."  
  
"You're not the only one who got sent to the wrong time, you know. And don't blame it on me, I did the spell exactly like I was supposed to." She stood in front of the dressing mirror, searching for Spike in it, knowing she wouldn't see him. Knowing he was invisible in the eyes of the mirror. Removing the pins from her hair, she turned back to face him, finding it creepy in the extreme to be talking to someone who, essentially, wasn't there. It made her feel like maybe she had imagined him.  
  
Spike took another long drink, frowning at her. "Yeah, well, no offense, love, but your magical skills have, so far, left a lot to be desired. I ended up in eighteen fifty-five with nothing but our clothes from Glasgow."  
  
Willow dropped the pins to the dresser and shook her hair out, feeling the usual ache she felt when she took her hair down. "Five years?" she whispered, leaning back against the dresser. "How did you... oh, right. Vampire. Killing. Death and robbery. You had all that going for you, I guess."  
  
He chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Willow," he chastised, "would you rather I didn't feed, didn't take money, and didn't survive, thereby leaving you stranded here? I tend to doubt even you'd want that. So back off with the criticism. I did what I had to do to survive, as I'm sure you did."  
  
Willow turned away from him, knowing he was right and not wanting him to see the admission on her face. "Sorry. For the criticism, and for stranding you there. Even if it wasn't my fault." She joined him on the bed, as far from him as possible, which wasn't easy since he was in the middle of the bed. And here again was that uncomfortable feeling.  
  
She reached out for the bottle, but stopped, raising a questioning eyebrow at him when she saw him staring at her with the bottle halfway to his mouth. "What?" She hopped up, looking around frantically. "It's not another spider, is it?"  
  
"How long have you been here?" he asked, ignoring her question. His eyes stayed on what had had him so enraptured before her spider freak-out; her hair. After a second, the bottle continued its journey to his mouth, and then to Willow's hand.  
  
She sat back down and took a quick drink before answering. "For a while. Where did you end up?" She felt something touch her hair, and visions of a blonde vampire that wasn't Spike, assailed her. Her back went stiff and her breathing stopped for what felt like an eternity before starting again. Spike's hand, she told herself. It's just Spike's hand. He's safe.  
  
"An alley," he said absently. "I had the money, obviously, and the clothes, so how did you survive?" His fingers had grabbed a lock of her hair and was playing with it.  
  
She had to stop herself from shivering in disgust. Force herself not to cringe away from his touch. "I-- got a job, could you *not* do that?"  
  
Spike dropped her hair with a shrug. "A job?" he repeated, and then his eyebrows rose. "Here? You work here?" His voice rose even higher than his eyebrows. "Doing what exactly?"  
  
"Not what you're thinking," she said with a shudder. "I'm an un-glorified waitress." He sighed, and she was sure she heard relief in there. Why would he be relieved? Or even care? He was an evil vampire that had kidnapped her, and forced her to do his bidding. What did he care that she might have been a prostitute? And that's definitely what he'd thought. Obviously he didn't know her at all. She would rather starve or freeze to death than do... that.  
  
On the other hand, she'd never been tested that much. How did she know what she would do when desperate? It was possible that she would fall into the lifestyle gratefully if she was cold and starving, and living on the streets.  
  
"Always thought you were a wench," Spike was saying, snapping her out of her musings. He stretched out even more, lacing his fingers behind his head and closing his eyes. "So tell me, Wench, what've you been doing?"  
  
"Working in the pub. Searching for you and Drusilla." Her excitement at finding him was once again starting to take over, and a giddy feeling was coursing through her. They'd be going home soon. They had to be. What else could he want to do back here? See himself? And if he did want to? Would she protest?  
  
It would be kind of interesting to see a human Spike.  
  
Though she was seeing a different Spike right now, with longer, darker hair--his natural hair color--and period dress, she wouldn't mind seeing a human Spike. William. Before Dru got to him. Which brought her back to the conversation at hand. "Have you found her yet?"  
  
He nodded slowly. "Yeah, I found her. That's how I happened to run into you tonight."  
  
Willow settled the whiskey bottle on his stomach and waited until he took it from her. "How long have you known where she was? I only found her a few days ago, and I've been searching for her since I got here."  
  
He took a drink and handed it back to her. "Few months." He grinned, staring up at the ceiling. "I had a nice debate going with myself on whether or not to find her yet. So, how long have you been here?"  
  
Ignoring his question, she set the bottle on the floor at her feet. "'cause of the getting involved factor? Hope you stayed out of her life, Spike. Otherwise, you could've... well, no, you didn't change anything."  
  
He sat up slowly, leaning on an elbow. "What do you mean, I didn't change anything? How exactly do you know that?"  
  
His voice was low and dangerous, and her heart was suddenly in her throat. "I-- well, the other night... Angelus--"  
  
Spike sat all the way up and shoved his hands through his hair agitatedly. "He's here? Now? Why the hell didn't you tell me that earlier?"  
  
Willow shrugged, not understanding his anger. "Why would I? What's the big deal?"  
  
He sighed heavily, shaking his head at himself. "Never mind. I've got time."  
  
She studied him, trying to figure out what he was talking about. He still had time to do... what? Stop Dru from being turned? Stop her from being driven insane? He couldn't do that. The future would be irrevocably changed if he did. They'd already screwed with things enough since traveling back in time, she couldn't allow him to tamper with anything more.  
  
"Spike, you're not--"  
  
He stopped her with a hand to her arm. "Wait a second. You ran into Angelus?" His blue eyes ran over her, checking for injuries, she assumed. "You're lucky you're still alive."  
  
"Yeah," she agreed, her hand moving, of its own volition, to the newest member of the Scar Society on her neck. Spike's eyes followed the movement, and she hastily turned the rub into a scratch, then dropped her hand altogether. His eyes stayed on her neck.  
  
"He bit you." It wasn't a question. He could see the evidence himself. His hand reached out to touch the mark, but she stood up, busying herself with picking up and corking the bottle of whiskey. She set it on the dresser, all the way across the room from him. "Why are you so damn jumpy? I mean, is it me, or what?"  
  
She turned back to him, a confused expression in place. "What? I'm not jumpy. Well, a little. I mean, it's been a while since I saw you. I've been on my own for a long time, and I'm not used to being around anyone except customers and Sam and Joe." She shrugged casually. "It's nothing personal."  
  
"Nothing personal? Right. You just can't stand to be touched..." his eyes widened as realization hit him. "He raped you? Angelus raped you?" Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed his cloak and headed purposely toward the door.  
  
Willow grabbed his arm and held him still, fighting back the instant repulsion she got from touching vampire flesh. "What is it with you constantly assuming I've been raped? I haven't been. Okay?" She dropped her hand from his arm with a shudder and smiled to hide it. "Thanks for the freak-out on my behalf, but it's not needed. Angelus didn't rape me, the guys in the warehouse that first night didn't rape me, and-- I mean, I'm fine," she told him.  
  
"You're sure?" he asked, hand still on the door knob.  
  
Willow rolled her eyes. "Am I sure?" she repeated with a laugh. "Yes. I'm sure."  
  
"Okay." He nodded, dropping his hand. "All right." Grabbing the whiskey from the dresser, he sat back down on her bed, setting his cloak beside him. "Wouldn't be the first time," he sighed.  
  
"Oh," she whispered. That was news she could've lived without for the rest of her life. Already she was going to have a hard time facing Angel when they got back to their own time, this was just going to make it even worse. By leaps and bounds.  
  
Spike was watching her solemnly, and she suddenly felt the need to confess. To clear Angel's name. Though she realized that Spike would never soften toward Angel, she thought it might help a bit. "It wasn't Angelus."  
  
"I knew it," he muttered. "She said-- bloody hell." He jumped to his feet again, striding to the door as he downed a swig of whiskey.  
  
"The only reason I'm telling you is to clear things up, okay? It's none of your business, it has nothing to do with you, and if you go after Angelus, I'll have to stop you. It wasn't him," she repeated more firmly.  
  
"Fine then. Give me his name, and I'll kill him for you," he promised, waiting by the door.  
  
"Um, yeah, because attackers usually give out their name and address," she laughed. She was touched in a weird way... but also a little unnerved. Was he going to go off and kill Angelus anyway, even knowing Angelus wasn't the one who'd done it? Almost done it. "He's dead." She made her way to the bed and sat wearily.  
  
"And?" Spike pressed.  
  
"And I don't want to talk about it." That was a bald-faced lie. She had a burning need to tell someone, but Spike wouldn't be that someone. He didn't give a damn for her, so she wasn't going to confide in him. "I dusted him."  
  
Spike snorted in contempt. "Vampire. I figured as much." He set the bottle of whiskey on the dresser and leaned back against the drawers, crossing his arms and feet. "Did you at least hurt him first? Make him pay a bit?"  
  
She forced herself not to gag as the memories came flooding back. She hated the memories. Hated seeing all the blood, feeling the pain, smelling the stench of the warehouse. Feeling the vampire's hair, his sweaty face, his fangs as they sank into her breast and stomach. Her thigh. "He-- he paid."  
  
Spike nodded. "Good. Though I have to admit I wish you hadn't killed him. I haven't killed someone for the simple pleasure of it in way too long. Would've been fun."  
  
A yawn forced itself past her lips, and she stood up, biting her lip. "Um, it's almost dawn, and I need some sleep--"  
  
He nodded, pushing away from the dresser. "Always trying to get rid of me," he teased. "Well, I'm afraid you're out of luck this time. I lost you five years ago, I'm not about to take the chance of losing you again. I'm staying."  
  
"But, no," she said hurriedly, realizing she'd sounded exactly like she was trying to get rid of him. "I don't want you to leave. I-- actually, I want you to stay. I don't want to lose you again either. The spell is useless without you."  
  
He grinned and chuckled a bit. "You tried the spell without me? Tried to leave me here?"  
  
"Um, yes?" she admitted.  
  
He laughed outright at her admission. "Good. I'd be surprised if you hadn't. A bit disappointed too."  
  
"So you're staying?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound desperate and pathetic and lonely and everything else she was feeling.  
  
He smirked and opened his mouth to say something, then closed it with a nod. "Couldn't get rid of me if you tried."  
  
She smiled as she unlaced her tennis shoes, happy beyond belief that he was here, and staying and, uh-oh, taking off his boots as well. What if he took off more?  
  
He snorted with laughter when he saw her shoes. "Nice look you got there, love."  
  
She patted her favorite, life-saving shoes fondly. "I do a lot of walking. These are tons more comfortable than my boots."  
  
"I'd imagine so," he agreed, cracking his neck with a loud pop.  
  
Willow shuddered, it sounded like he'd just broken his neck. "So, um," she motioned to the bed, "you take the bed, and I'll... not take the bed," she mumbled.  
  
"Don't mind if I do," he told her, removing his coat and shirt. He tossed them on the floor beside the bed, and threw his cloak on the pile as well. His pants, thankfully, stayed on, as he sat back on the bed, patting the space beside him. "But, not alone."  
  
Willow shook her head and gestured to the floor. "I'm good here. Here is good." Tucking her tennis shoes under the bed, she stood back up with a yawn.  
  
"On the bed, Willow," he said irritably, watching her practically dive into the closet to change into her nightshirt--which was actually his T-Shirt. His voice raised slightly in order for her to hear him inside the small, dark closet. "Modesty at this late date?"  
  
"Not modesty," she mumbled, then raised her own voice at his urging. "I said it's not modesty. It's been a few years, Spike, I'm a little uncomfortable with sleeping with someone I just ran into, okay?" Leaving the safety of the closet behind, she stood uneasily by the window.  
  
He shook his head, lighting another disgustingly stinky cigarette. "No, not okay. Avoidance won't help. Lay down."  
  
Glad to have something to do with her hands, she pushed open the shutters, inhaling the cool night air. Coughing when the sooty, chimney smoke-filled air entered her lungs, she wondered which was worse; Spike's cigarettes, or the polluted air outside? Turning back to the bed, she leaned against the window sill. "Suddenly you're an expert on human feelings?"  
  
"I've seen the Afterschool Specials too, you know. I think it's high time you faced your fears and all that." A grin lit his lips at her shocked look. "Had to pass my time in the wheelchair somehow, didn't I?"  
  
"Really?" she asked, unsure if he was having her on or not. Spike's lips twitched the slightest bit, and Willow burst out laughing at the unrestrained grin spreading across his face. "I can't believe I almost fell for that. You're shameless."  
  
He nodded, agreeing with her one hundred percent. "I really am." But then his eyes found hers, and the laughter was gone, quick as a wink. "But, I'm also serious. You know I won't hurt you."  
  
A slow head shake accompanied the frown she knew was spreading across her brow. She didn't know that, did she? "You bit me," she told him, only a hint of accusation in her voice. "Twice." She damned herself for remembering that. Damned herself for not simply slipping into bed with him, because she'd really missed this. The ease with which they got along, being able to talk to someone who knew exactly what she meant when she mentioned burritos, or computers.  
  
And, she missed Spike.  
  
Missed how safe and secure she'd felt waking up in his arms every afternoon in Galway, though, he never knew he ended up wrapped around her. She sighed, wanting nothing more than to climb into bed next to him, and be held, comforted.  
  
His frown was even more thunderous than hers. "That was five years ago, Willow."  
  
"Two years ago," she corrected. "For me it was only two."  
  
"Yeah." He stood up, moving toward her, looking exactly how she remembered him from some of their days in Ireland. His hair was longer, and the cigarette dangling from his lips was hand rolled, but he looked the same. Shirtless, but for the gold chain hanging around his neck, squinting through the smoke at her. "I guess it was at that."  
  
She fought the urge to back away, to press herself into the corner of the room just to get away from him. But, when he stopped in front of the window, she realized he was only tossing his cigarette out.  
  
She'd been about to wig out just because he'd walked in her general direction? Maybe he was right. Maybe she did need to face her fears. She certainly couldn't see spending the next however long with him, always afraid, always flinching away. With a deep breath filling her lungs, she slowly moved around him to the bed. He closed the window, latching the shutters as she slid under the covers. Lying as still as humanly possible on the very edge of the bed, she waited for him to join her, wondering if he could hear her heart pounding.  
  
Looking like he'd done it a hundred times before, Spike blew out the wall sconces and slid under the covers with her. He didn't force her to move, or even suggest it. He let her stay where she was; on the far side of the bed, shivering and afraid.  
  
She adjusted the blankets a few times, lifting them higher, then folding over the top and smoothing it down. After a few minutes, she started to relax a little, but was by no means comfortable.  
  
"Have you read Berenice?" Spike asked from the other side of the bed.  
  
"Bare a whoozee?" she asked with a chuckle. She'd expected maybe orders for her to stop moving, or to relax, or something... anything other than what he'd asked.  
  
"Berenice. B-E-R-E-N-I-C-E, pronounced bare-a-nicee. It's, uh... by Poe. H-- have you read it?" he asked again, sounding extremely embarrassed.  
  
She smiled a little at the familiar question. Remembering asking him the same thing about the Telltale Heart back in Galway. "No," she answered, rolling onto her other side, so that she could face him.  
  
He was on his back, staring at the ceiling. Tossing a quick glance at her, he shrugged. "It's about a guy who has an unhealthy obsession with teeth." He turned his head toward her and vamped out, licking his fangs with a grin before morphing back.  
  
Willow, not at all afraid by his display, laughed lightly and rolled her eyes. "I'm starting to wonder if you're making these up."  
  
He actually looked offended by her suggestion. "Hell no, I'd do a much better job. I walk in worlds others can't begin to imagine."  
  
She frowned in confusion, not having one iota of a clue as to what he was talking about. "What?"  
  
"Nothing," he chuckled, rolling onto his side. "Get some sleep."  
  
What was that about? she wondered, staring at his back. But, after the long day and even longer night she'd had, sleep was quick to claim her. 


	11. Time Stitch 11

Disclaimer: I own nothing here except the plot. The characters and all things Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Twentieth Century, the Pope, and whoever else wants to claim them and actually receives royalties from them. That's not me, so... there ya go.  
  
Pairing: W/S of course. That's all I write.  
Rating: R  
Summary: Spike uses Willow to go back in time to avoid being implanted by the Initiative... has even one of Spike's plans ever gone right? They end up a little further back in time than he intended.  
  
Dedicated: To my beta, Claudia! She rules. Helped me work through a ton of stuff, caught things I'd read a hundred times and never noticed, and did the best thing of all, the easiest thing in the world to get a writer to write... she begged for more.  
  
  
  
PART 11  
  
Spike woke up to Willow untangling herself from around him. Her arm slid out from under his back, her leg from his. Without opening his eyes, he asked her where she was going.  
  
"Downstairs," she whispered, "otherwise Sam's going to come up here."  
  
"So what if she does?" He knew he sounded less than nice, but at the moment, he was feeling less than nice. He liked having Willow in bed with him again, and he didn't want her to leave.  
  
"I thought maybe you'd want some more sleep," she said slowly. "Maybe be a little more rested when you meet them, and not be assailed by tons of questions and explanations. But, if you'd rather meet them now, I can--"  
  
He rolled onto his side, away from her. She got the idea and left quietly. Normally he wouldn't mind being up this early, but lately, ever since-- he sighed explosively, not liking the direction his thoughts were taking. Grabbing Willow's pillow from behind him, he smashed it on his head. How he fell asleep with her scent wafting over him, he had no idea.  
  
  
  
A few hours later, he woke up again, this time to someone sitting next to him. It was Willow again. Her smell, her heartbeat. Her body laying next to his. Just like old times. Once again, she stayed as far away from him as she could get. He wanted her to curl up against him like she used to do. He missed having her beside him.  
  
As if she'd heard his thoughts, she sighed and whispered, "I sort of missed you, vampire."  
  
  
  
Spike jerked awake as the noises he'd been hearing for a few seconds penetrated his mind, forcing him into consciousness. Two more loud thumps followed the first three. He sat up and crept to the door, listening. A muffled scream reached his ears, and he double checked to make sure Willow was still in the room. She was asleep on the bed, practically falling off the opposite side he'd been on, oblivious to anything happening.  
  
He sat on the bed to yank his boots on. "Willow, wake up," he whispered loudly. "Come on, Red, we've got company."  
  
Willow woke up with a yawn. "What's going on?" She sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.  
  
Boots on, he stood up and started for the door. "Stay here. If I don't come back in a few minutes, or if you get scared, leave." He looked around quickly, and motioned to the window. "Go out there, and don't look back."  
  
Eyes wide, she quickly put on her tennis shoes, then grabbed stakes, holy water, and crosses. A loud crash sounded from downstairs, followed a second later by glass breaking. "What's down there?" she asked quietly. She didn't look scared, like he'd expected her to be, she actually looked angry.  
  
"Vampires," he said dismissively, not about to tell her what specific vampires they were. She'd be sure to stomp down the stairs right behind him, if not in front of him, intending to save her friends, and then Angelus.  
  
Spike wasn't worried about Angelus in the slightest, he could go to hell again for all Spike cared. But he was worried about Drusilla. He hadn't heard her downstairs, so he didn't think she was a vampire yet... she'd be here if she was. This was just the kind of thing she was into. But if she wasn't a vampire yet, then he had to refrain from going down there and killing Angelus... pity.  
  
She looked up from stuffing her pockets full of her slaying paraphernalia. "How many?"  
  
Spike shook his head at her. "Don't even think about it, Willow. You stay here," he told her in no uncertain terms. "Lock the door after me."  
  
She looked about ready to protest, but then finally dropped her arms to her sides and nodded.  
  
Taking one of the stakes from her, he looked her in the eye, made sure she saw how serious he was, and left her room, shutting the door tightly behind him. He waited for her to lock the door, then started cautiously down the hallway.  
  
  
  
Willow stopped her pacing, listened closely, then continued on her way. Five minutes had passed since Spike left the room. Five minutes of waiting and listening, hoping for the best for Joe, Sam, and Spike, and knowing that it was pretty likely that everyone down there was dead. Some more so than others. She had to get down there and help them. Help Spike. If he wasn't already dust.  
  
That thought caused her chest to tighten and her breath to catch. Spike couldn't be dead, it just wasn't possible. Refusal to believe in something wasn't usually a problem for Willow, but for some reason... well, she just couldn't believe it. Stopping to listen again, she was startled to hear footsteps in the hall outside her door.  
  
Spike's warning rang through her mind, and she moved to the window, waiting to see what the person was going to do. When she saw the round brass doorknob twist slowly back and forth, she shoved the window open and started to climb through just as the door flew open, slamming against the dresser. The sound of splintering wood rang through the quiet room, echoing for what seemed like forever.  
  
"Hey," a voice yelled.  
  
Willow didn't bother to turn around and look, she climbed over the sash, onto the rooftop. A pair of hands grabbed her roughly by the arms, his fingers digging into the flesh there, and spun her around. She screamed as the vampire grinned at her, showing her his mouthful of sharp yellow fangs. He pushed her backward, and her feet went out from under her. She reached out blindly, as she started to fall, and lucked out by grabbing the window frame. Scrambling away on her hands and knees, she tried to get far enough away to get to her feet and get away, but he was right behind her. He picked her up, carried her back to the window, and shoved her through, back into her room.  
  
She fell forward, landing on her hands and knees, wincing as wood slivers went into all four points of contact.  
  
"That's right, bitch. On your knees," he hissed.  
  
Willow drew in a deep breath as pain and anger swept through her. Being a victim sucked, and she didn't want to be one anymore. Just because this guy was a vampire, and bigger than her by at least a foot, and a demon, and-- well, none of that mattered, right? She had her brain, and her magick, and her... knowledge of the future which probably wouldn't help her, but just might.  
  
"Go to hell," she bit out, hoping to anger him. And sure enough, it worked. Predictable. He came up behind her, grabbed her by the hair, and yanked her up. As soon as he turned her around, she raised her left hand, raked her nails along his neck, and staked him with the stake she'd dropped into her right hand. She was halfway down the stairs by the time the dust settled to the floor.  
  
Slipping down the hallway and stairwell was a breeze compared to working up enough courage to peer through the doorway at the scene before her. And it took her two tries, because she didn't look long enough the first time. Finally, she was able to see a group of vampires in the far left corner of the pub, grouped around something, or someone. She couldn't be sure.  
  
All the tables and chairs were grouped along the right wall, including in front of the door to the outside, which was directly across from her. Not that she'd leave without Spike, Joe and Sam. Leaning back against the wall, she saw something blue to her left. She turned her head, dreading what she would see.  
  
Samantha's favorite color was sky blue, so she had a lot of blue dresses, boots, shoes, and ribbons. Right now, most of the blue was covered in red and brown stains. Joe's hair was covered in blood as well, from where Samantha's neck wound had bled onto the floor and pooled underneath his head, mixing with his own blood which was also pooling under him.  
  
Willow ducked back into the hall and swallowed hard, pressing her hands into her eyes to stop the tears trying to fall. Now wasn't the time, damn it. Not now. Halting the sob in her throat, she peered once more around the corner. The gang of vamps were still there, still doing whatever it was they were doing, and now, her fury getting the better of her, she wanted to know what the hell was going on. Stake in hand, she dropped to the ground and crawled through the doorway, hiding behind the bar.  
  
Ignoring the dead couple a few feet away from her, wasn't easy. Her hand landed in the blood beside Sam's arm, and she slid forward, catching herself just before smacking into the bar. She frantically wiped her bloody hand on her skirt, and took a deep breath, dreading what she was about to do. Standing up, she looked around the room, seeing five vampires in the corner--three men, two women--and Spike. He was unconscious and bloody. Bruised too. And looking pretty bad.  
  
Two other vampires were standing off to the side, watching the spectacle in the corner. The vampires grouped around Spike occasionally kicked or hit him. One of them was feeding off of him, her mouth was attached to his arm. Ew, gross.  
  
She had to stop them. Not only was it wrong, and mean, it was extremely gross and disgusting.  
  
"Angelus." Her voice wasn't loud, but it didn't have to be.  
  
He heard her immediately. His brown eyes fixed on hers, a malevolent grin lifting the corners of his mouth. Every other head in the room turned toward her as one. The vampire feeding off Spike dropped his arm, and stood up with the rest of them. And all the snarling, sneering vampires, their fangs glistening, their eyes glowing, advanced on her. Angelus stopped them with a single look.  
  
Holding her stake up for Angelus to see, Willow tossed it harmlessly to the floor on the other side of the bar. "I won't kill you." Lifting her other hand, which held a satchel filled with useless herbs meant to protect, she added, "But I will hurt you, so I suggest you get out."  
  
"Angelus?" a small voice inquired. "Who is this?" Darla, standing beside Angelus, her hand resting possessively on his arm, looked Willow over, apparently finding her lacking. "This is the one you captured? The one who hurt you?" she giggled. "She is only a human."  
  
Angelus shrugged out from under her touch, his eyes never leaving Willow's. He walked forward a few feet, his boots loud in the ensuing silence. At his movements, the vampires seemed to decide as one that it was time to get back to what they'd been doing.  
  
"Your husband," Angelus said suddenly, a light going on in his eyes. Remembrance was flooding through him from a hundred and seven years ago.  
  
Flicking her eyes to the corner, checking to make sure Spike was still there and not dust, she hoped she hadn't given herself away. Hoped she didn't look as frightened as she felt. Fear was racing through her, her heart was beating a million miles an hour, and through it all, she kept her expression blank. She hoped.  
  
She nodded, trying not to shrink away from the glare in Darla's eyes. If looks could kill... the trick to looking tough, was looking tough. Willow crossed her arms over her chest and glared right back. That'll teach her to-- or not. Darla growled at her and started forward. Angelus' hand shot out and grabbed her arm.  
  
"She's mine," he growled, shoving Darla back. "I owe her."  
  
Willow gulped, and turned toward the vampires holding Spike. "Let him go."  
  
Angelus chuckled ruefully. "Oh, no, I don't think so. See, I also owe him."  
  
Reminding him of the herbs in her hand, she motioned toward the corner. "Let him go, and I won't kill you."  
  
Darla laughed delightedly. "Kill us? My dear," she said condescendingly, "you won't kill us. Not if you want everything to be as it should."  
  
Willow hid the frown that was forming on her brow. How did she know? How could she possibly have guessed? "Will so," she disagreed, starting to lose her cool. There'd been no sound from Spike, no movement from him either. She could hardly even see him anymore.  
  
"The girl told us. The one you found for my boy." She sneered at Willow, her face becoming demonic for a moment. "She says you're a traveler." Darla smiled sweetly. "I say you're a puny human, not worthy of my Angelus."  
  
Willow refused to be drawn into an argument with a jealous vampire. She turned her eyes to her future-friend. "Let him go, Angelus."  
  
"You know, back in Galway, when I generously told you of your 'husband's' infidelity, I couldn't figure out why you were so uncaring." He circled around the bar, stalking toward her. She glanced behind herself, knowing she only had a few feet left before she ran into the wall. When her back finally hit it, he grinned and stepped closer, trailing his finger along the polished wood counter.  
  
"You knew her in Galway?" Darla asked suspiciously, then looked more closely at her. "The loon was right? She really is a traveler?"  
  
Angelus ignored Darla, keeping his attention on Willow. "I realize now that he was feeding, not fu--"  
  
Two of the vampires guarding Spike, suddenly went flying across the room. Another one was reduced to dust. Spike jumped up, backing away from the remaining two, planting his back against the same wall she was against, a chair leg in his hand.  
  
Angelus wasted no time in grabbing Willow when he saw his minions falling to the floor in useless piles of dust. His hand did the usual wrapping around her neck move... must be a vampire thing. Freud would have a field day with them. He slid behind her, holding her still with his other arm, which he wrapped around her stomach. All kinds of icky feelings were washing over her from the contact, but she shoved it away. Later. Later, she would cry for her lost friends, cry for herself, and scream and yell at the situation she'd been forced into, but right now, she needed to keep a level head.  
  
Angelus seemed to be waiting for Spike to notice the position they were in, so she called out to him, whispering around the hand at her throat. "William."  
  
He dusted the last two vampires that were attempting to charge him, and brushed himself off before turning toward them. His jaw tightened, and Willow was pretty sure he was angry at her for not getting away. "Didn't I tell you to run, Red?"  
  
"Red," Angelus repeated. "Is that his pet name for you?" he whispered in her ear, making her cringe. "Is that why you got so angry when I called you that? Well, gosh, isn't that sweet?"  
  
"I tried," Willow told Spike, ignoring Angelus completely. "But the dust pile in my room-- ow."  
  
"Quiet," Angelus barked, squeezing her neck tightly. Darla moved behind them, her hand threading through Willow's hair and pulling her head back, baring it to Angelus' mouth. Thankfully he didn't take advantage of the offer.  
  
"Let her go, Angelus, you've already got one plaything." Spike jumped over the counter and advanced on them. Angelus laughed and walked backwards, dragging Willow with him.  
  
She was starting to feel like a rag doll. Everyone seemed to want to force her to do what they wanted. But this was Angelus, she couldn't simply stake him and walk away, even if she could manage it. Buffy barely had, so she didn't really hold any hope of being able to herself. And she didn't want to. Angel was her friend. Buffy's love. He'd saved their lives on numerous occasions... from Spike a few times too. Truthfully, she shouldn't be anywhere near any of these three vampires.  
  
And yet.  
  
Someone up there seemed to take great pleasure in throwing them together. A nice big jumble of vampires and witches. Well, witch. Singular. And... um, they were discussing her, and she was thinking way too much about things, and not paying enough attention.  
  
"Drusilla not enough for you, mate?" Spike snarled. "Driving her batty not satisfying you?" He vamped out, sneering at Angelus.  
  
"Sp-- William, don't," she whispered, trying to get his attention away from Angelus. His eyes flicked momentarily to hers, but she didn't see a speck of warmth in them. Uh-oh. His entire attention was focused on Angelus, and she feared that maybe he was letting his anger and hatred get the best of him. He was a demon after all, they tended to do stuff like that. A lot.  
  
"Yeah, William," Angelus taunted. "Don't." He laughed at the fury on Spike's face, and licked Willow's neck.  
  
"Ew," she said, not wisely, and automatically tried to shrug him off of her. Obviously, he wasn't about to be displaced that easily. And she was pretty sure she'd angered him, because his arms tightened around her even more. Now would be a good time to get free. The spell she'd done before, when Angelus had her tied to a chair, seemed like a good idea. The Latin words fell easily from her lips, and her head fell back as the power flowed through her.  
  
"Oh, bloody hell," Spike ground out, before jumping over the counter, and ducking down behind it.  
  
Darla, who Willow had all but forgotten about, grabbed her arm just as Willow's eyes slid shut and the magick shot through her. Darla and Angelus both yelled in surprise and pain. Good. She liked that she'd caused them a little bit of the pain they'd caused her. Without opening her eyes, she drew in a deep breath, and stood straighter, working out the kinks in her neck.  
  
She could see Angelus and Darla on the floor behind her, watching her warily, fearfully, and she reveled in it, not stopping to wonder how she could see them when they were behind her, and her eyes were closed. She was too busy thinking that they should fear her. Cower before her. Opening her eyes, she searched for Spike. He was just getting to his feet on the other side of the bar again. Behind her, the other two vampires were climbing to their feet as well, still watching her cautiously. She grinned and turned toward them, fixing them in place with a look.  
  
And then everything went black.  
  
  
  
Spike heard Willow speak Latin, and dove over the bar, knowing something bad was about to happen. Just as he made it to safety, Darla and Angelus screamed and went flying backwards, smacking into the wall behind Willow, and slumping to the floor in a heap. His grin of satisfaction didn't last long. In his experience, Willow and magick usually equaled badness. Proposing to the slayer, ending up two hundred and forty-six years in the past, and then five years from when he wanted to end up... these were not good things.  
  
Standing up cautiously, he peered over the counter at Willow and saw her standing perfectly straight and still, like a statue. Angelus and Darla were standing as well, just as Willow turned toward them, opening her eyes. She grinned at them, and then suddenly sagged. Her eyes turned black, and all emotion and life left her in a breath. He knew this look, he'd almost been killed by the last witch to be possessed by this thing. If it was indeed the same thing.  
  
"Leave," she told the couple glaring at her from their spot against the wall.  
  
Spike sighed when he heard the deep, rumbling voice that left Willow's lips. It was the same voice from five years ago all right. The big and mighty Time Stabilizer.  
  
Angelus didn't seem to realize the trouble he was in. He stalked forward, sneering at Willow.  
  
"You don't tell me, Red, I tell you." He stood in front of Willow, daring her to do something.  
  
Spike shook his head with a sigh. Angelus always was a bloody stupid idiot. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."  
  
They both ignored Spike. Willow lifted her hands up, palms out, facing Angelus. "She doesn't wish you to call her that, vampire." Her hands started to glow a dark green color. "Leave," the voice repeated. "This time has already been irrevocably altered. Alter it more and you will cease to exist." She turned her eyes to Darla, who had joined Angelus.  
  
"Come on, Angelus, let's go. I'm not having fun any more," Darla declared, pulling on his arm. Spike sneered at her, she always had been the type to run at the first sign of trouble.  
  
Angelus shook her hand off his arm and straightened up. His eyes stayed fixed on Willow, and he looked about ready to attack her. Spike tensed, preparing to jump across the counter again to protect Willow. She was still his ticket home. He didn't exactly fancy living out the next hundred and forty years here.  
  
Finally, Angelus nodded, trying to act casual and unafraid. "Let's go, Darla. This... place has lost its appeal." He stepped closer to Willow, leaning in to whisper, though he made sure to speak loud enough so everyone present heard him. "Make no mistake, I'll find you again... *Red*."  
  
Spike rolled his eyes, and moved back a few feet, making sure to stay shielded by the counter. Willow's hands didn't glow brighter, or raise up, the light simply shot out from her palms, and struck Angelus in the chest. He went flying backwards for the second time that night, and Darla with him. Furious snarls and growling sounded from the couple, but they decided they'd had enough abuse for one night, and quickly left.  
  
Spike chuckled at their hasty retreat, then circled around the counter to Willow. She sagged again, collapsing to the floor. He caught her before her head could smack on a shelf behind the bar, and lifted her up. He almost dropped her when the heat from her skin penetrated his clothes.  
  
"Christ," he ground out, carrying her upstairs quickly. Setting her on her bed, he stood back, wondering what he was supposed to do now. She was hot as hell, but shivering.  
  
This hadn't happened to Christine. She'd woken up on her own, given him some supplies for a protection spell, and showed him out the door.  
  
What was it humans said? Feed a fever, starve a cold? Feed a cold, starve a fever? She wasn't even conscious, how was he supposed to feed her? And what was he supposed to feed her? He doubted food, or a lack of it, would help her at this point. Maybe a cold bath to bring her temperature down... if he knew where a bathtub was. Not to mention indoor plumbing.  
  
He covered her up, and sat back to wait. After a good twenty minutes, and nothing happened, he went downstairs for a bottle of whiskey to pass the time. Stepping over her dead friends, he grabbed a bottle and headed back upstairs. Willow was tossing and turning, trying to shove the blanket off. Her eyes slid open for a second before closing again. "I'm hot, Mom. No more covers," she moaned.  
  
Spike set the whiskey on the dresser and covered her back up. "You have a fever or something. What am I supposed to do?" She didn't answer. "Fine," he muttered. "More covers it is." He went through her dresser drawers and closet, tossing every dress he could find on top of her. His own black T-Shirt went as well, along with her red jeans. She tried to shove them off, but he held her hands still.  
  
"Mmm, cold. Feels good," she whispered, pressing his hands against her face. Her skin heated his almost immediately, sapping all the coolness from him. She dropped his hands, opening her eyes again. "Oz? Not Oz." She frowned, shivering, and turned onto her side, snuggling into the covers. A second later, she drew in a deep breath. "Spike," she mumbled. "It smells like you again."  
  
He looked down at her, wondering what the hell she was talking about. What smelled like him? Seeing the black cotton garment under her cheek, he realized she was talking about his T-Shirt. "If you say so, pet." Grabbing the bottle of whiskey from the dresser, he uncorked it and took a swig, then poured some of it over the bitemark on his arm. Bloody bitch had taken a good chunk out of him. Who the hell taught her how to fight? he wondered. Generally, vampires didn't bite each other unless they had sex in mind. Or dominance. Considering they were there to kill, he was pretty sure sex hadn't entered into it. And she was a long way off of being dominant over anyone except maybe a month old vampire.  
  
Taking another swig as his arm dripped with whiskey and blood, he shifted slightly to get more comfortable. His right side ached like a bastard. Most of the kicking and blows he'd been given had somehow ended up on that side. Lifting his eyes to Willow's form, he sighed. She was huddled on the bed, looking so small and lost that he couldn't help but feel for her.  
  
Unfortunately, she showed no signs of waking up anytime soon. It was going to be a long night.  
  
  
  
Spike dropped his cigarette to the floor, and crushed it under his boot. Standing up with a yawn, he stumbled over to the bed, staring down at Willow with a baleful eye. Kicking off his boots, and taking off his shirt, he climbed into bed beside her. She'd been silent in the four hours since she'd discovered he wasn't dogboy, hadn't moved much either. If he hadn't been able to hear her heartbeat, he'd have wondered if she was still alive.  
  
After he slid under the covers, and got comfortable, settling on one side of the bed, she rolled over and snuggled up against him. Yep. Definitely still alive. And warm, though no longer overly so. A sigh escaped her, and he felt her breath fan across his chest as her hand curled under her cheek. He held himself still, waiting for her to wake up and realize where she was, but it didn't happen. Lifting his arm up cautiously, he wrapped it around her, enjoying the familiar feeling of holding her again after so long.  
  
Just as he was drifting off to sleep, he felt her stiffen. She held her breath for a few seconds, then slowly tried to move away from him. Her heartbeat was taking off as panic settled over her.  
  
"It's just me," he whispered, letting go of her to show her he meant no harm.  
  
Silence greeted him, then a soft, "S-- Spike?"  
  
"Still not Elvis." He was surprised when she didn't move away from him. "You okay now?"  
  
She shook her head frantically, close to tears. "No." She was trying hard not to cry, sniffling every few seconds, and swallowing her sobs. "They're dead," she whispered. "Angelus and Darla killed them."  
  
He wondered for a second who she was talking about before remembering her dead friends downstairs. "I know." He smoothed his hand down her back, feeling the need to comfort her, though it certainly wasn't something he was used to doing. Killing, and maiming, now those things he knew how to do. Comforting anyone except Dru was beyond him. "I'm sorry."  
Was it okay to lie to the person you were trying to comfort? Didn't seem right. But what was he supposed to say? 'I know they're dead, but I could care less. So hey, goodnight and sweet dreams.' That probably wouldn't go over too well.  
  
Unable to hold back any longer, she started crying, her whole body shaking with sobs. Tears wet his chest, but he didn't mind too much. She'd been through a lot in the past year, or however long she'd been here. He was used to living in the past. He'd lived through it once. She hadn't. And yet, she'd survived her time here. Now her friends were dead, friends who'd helped her survive.  
  
Her sobs quieted after a few minutes, her tears dried up, and her breathing evened out. "I miss Sunnydale," she whispered. "I want to go home."  
  
Spike had been thinking about that recently, about leaving. Seeing Dru was great, watching her with her family, her friends, seeing her laugh without the insanity... well, it was beyond description, though he wasn't sure why. Knowing her before she became the demon he loved was great. But, she didn't know him, didn't care a thing about him. In fact, the few times he'd approached her, she'd cowered from him. Apparently that psychic thing was in full swing even now, because she was afraid of him.  
  
Why she wasn't afraid of Angelus baffled him no end.  
  
Spike wanted to stick around to make sure things went like they were supposed to, and considering how much they'd screwed with things already, there was no guarantee that Dru would be made at all. The thing speaking through Willow had fueled that fear in Spike, and now he was back to thinking they needed to stick around.  
  
When he didn't answer right away, she sighed heavily, and sniffled. "Never mind." Pushing away from him, she settled on the other side of the bed.  
  
"We can't," he said regretfully. "Not yet. After the whole near-miss in Galway, I think we should stick around to make sure Angelus turns Dru."  
  
She didn't fight him like he'd expected, just sniffled some more, and nodded in resignation. "I know. You're right, we should stay and make sure." She sighed, and continued on in a hesitant voice. "As much as I want to go home right now... I think we need to stick around to make sure you get turned too. We screwed things up so badly that--"  
  
He sat up, startled. "What? Things are mostly still on track, or at least, not that off-track, the only difference is that they know who we are now." Bloody hell. He didn't want to go to eighteen-eighty. Didn't want to see his human counterpart. "There's no need to go there."  
  
She sat up as well, resting against the wall behind them. "But, there is. What if Angelus recognizes you... I mean William? He'd probably kill him on the spot."  
  
Damn it, she was right. Why did his plans always go so wrong? It had seemed like a nice, solid plan. Grab the witch, force her to do the time travel spell, go back a few months, keep him from being captured. Simple plan. Easy.  
  
Stupid.  
  
He should've known. Nothing he did ever went right. At least not since coming to Sunnydale. The blasted slayer was at the root of most of his screw-ups. Bloody bitch. Shoving himself out of Willow's bed, he grabbed his coat and fished out one of the cigarettes he'd rolled a few days ago. He leaned against the dresser as he lit it. "What if I don't want to go to eighteen-eighty?"  
  
Willow was folding the clothes he'd thrown on her hours before. She stopped with a shrug, playing with the belt loop on her jeans. "You didn't give me a choice, so, I'm not giving you a choice," she said with a brave and hopeful look.  
  
He just lifted an eyebrow at her. Like she could force him to do anything. Please.  
  
The hope and bravery melted into worry. "But," she reasoned, looking up at him, "what if you don't get turned?"  
  
He rolled his eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Looking back on some of the things I've done, maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing." Well, yes, actually it would be a bad thing. He happened to like his unlife, thank you very much.  
  
"Wait," she said, sitting up straighter. "You're regretting stuff you've done?" She held her hand against his forehead with a concerned frown. "Are you all right? You feel okay? You're not getting a soul, are you?"  
  
"Yeah, that's what's happening," he said with a chuckle. "Of course I regret things. Like the Halloween Buffy turned into an innocent little frail weakling. I regret not killing her faster. And when I got caught by the Initiative. I regret that. Or the time Dru--"  
  
Willow snorted and pushed him away with a laugh. A second later, her smile faded, and she went back to folding her clothes. "Did-- back in Galway, when you said being bitten doesn't have to hurt, did you mean it?"  
  
"Yeah. Why? You want to test out that theory?" He waggled his eyebrows at her lasciviously.  
  
She shook her head with a shudder, staring down at his T-Shirt. "Do you think Sam and Joe--"  
  
Feeling somewhat responsible for her friends' deaths, what with him being a vampire and their killers being vampires, he sighed heavily, and spoke more harshly than he needed to. "You want me to lie, Willow? You saw Darla bite Angelus. You yourself have been bitten by him, and by others. Did Darla's bite hurt him? Sure looked like it to me. And I can pretty much guarantee that that newest one on your neck was painful."  
  
She went to the window and carefully opened the shutters, making sure not to let the sun hit him. Leaning against the wall below the sash, she folded her arms across her chest. "Every bite I have was painful, Spike. Ten bites, each one painful."  
  
His eyes flickered to her neck, seeing seven bite marks. He knew who owned those... but where were the other three? Joining her by the window, he tossed his cigarette out, dodging the dangerous golden rays of death.  
  
"Where are they?" Anger was coursing through him, and he had to work to keep his face from changing. How dare someone else mark her. She was his. Well... in the sense that she was marked by him--twice--and was traveling with him. They'd slept together for a week. Technically been together for a century. If one didn't count the years they'd been apart, and okay, didn't sound like he had much of a claim on her after all. But neither did anyone else.  
  
Willow shook her head in confusion. "Where are who?"  
  
He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward slightly, watching her intently. "The other three bite marks." He'd bet his right arm they'd been done by the bastard that tried to rape her. And that was something he didn't want to think about. He'd already gone through the whole guilt thing for not being there when it happened. And the fury that someone else had touched her. He'd gone through all that five years ago, he didn't need to replay it again now.  
  
No. It wasn't just that he'd touched her. It was that he'd forced her. Touched her when she didn't want to be touched.  
  
Forcing the anger back again, he raised a questioning eyebrow at her. "Well?"  
  
"Why?" she countered. "Does it really matter?" Judging by the nauseous look on her face, she didn't want to discuss it.  
  
Tough. "Yes, it does."  
  
She moved further into the sunlight, looking trapped. "You know what?" She threw the shutters open all the way, and walked quickly out of the room, staying out of reach in the sunlight. "I don't think it's any of your business." Stopping at the door, she turned back around and was surprised to find him right beside her. She eeped. Literally.  
  
Spike had to laugh. Willow was one of a kind. He doubted there was another one of her in the world. "Just answer the question."  
  
"No," she said adamantly. "You don't own me. I don't have to do what you say. Got it?" She backed away from him, going into the hall.  
  
He followed her, shutting the door quickly behind him to block the sun from killing him. Didn't want to ruin his already sucky day, now did he? "Actually, you do kind of belong to me. And, as for not having to do what I say? You do. See... I no longer have that pesky implant to worry about."  
  
She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned to face him. "Fine, Spike. Bite me, kill me... go ahead."  
  
He grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her away from him. She slid across the floor, slamming her head into the wall, and dropped to the floor unconscious. The two vampires that'd been sneaking up behind her, snarled at their lost prey. Spike vamped out, and stepped in front of her, facing down her dead friends.  
  
"Should've gotten out while it was dark," he told them. Yep, he definitely remembered these two from his trip here five years ago. They were a little older, a lot deader, and considerably more bloody, but it was them.  
  
They both halted their progress when they saw his face. "Why are you protecting her?" Joe asked, his Irish accent thick, made thicker by a mouthful of fangs.  
  
Samantha, her blonde hair ratted and bloody, stepped forward with more confidence than her husband. "The girl is ours. We want her."  
  
"Wrong," he snarled. "She's mine. Remember that husband she was waiting for?" They nodded, looking at each other fearfully. "I'm him."  
  
"Oh," they said together. And then they ran. Not out the front door, like Angelus and Darla had done, but toward their bedroom. He heard a door slam, and then another. Must be another way out. Either that, or they'd just trapped themselves.  
  
He ran after them with a quick glance over his shoulder at Willow, and found himself in an empty bedroom. There was a lot of furniture--a large bed, dresser, table and chairs, wardrobe--but nothing with a lot of room for two adults to hide in. Door number two then, he thought, crossing the room to it. Cautiously, making sure not to let any sunlight in, he opened the door and let it swing wide. Darkness greeted him, not sunlight. It opened onto a narrow alley, thick with shadows. The vampires were nowhere to be seen, so he shut the door and shoved a dresser in front of it. Back out in the bar, he looked down at Willow, wondering why it was that whenever the two of them got together, one or the other ended up either unconscious, or bleeding.  
  
Sighing in exasperation, he went over to her and picked her up, once again carrying her upstairs to her room. Laying her down gently, he slammed the shutters closed, shut her door, and pushed the dresser in front of it. Shoving her clothes to the floor, he climbed into bed beside her, and pulled her against him.  
  
She'd be real angry when she woke up. Probably think he'd tried to kill her. Well, let her. She couldn't hurt him. 


	12. Time Stitch 12

Disclaimer: See chapter 1, 6, or 11.  
  
PART 12  
  
"Ow!" Spike yelled, gritting his teeth as Willow tied the strip of cloth around his stomach. "Could you possibly make it hurt more?"  
  
She shrugged, and tightened it until he winced and pulled away from her. "How's that?" she asked. "Good for you? 'Cause it was great for me."  
  
Spike sighed and laid back on the bed, forcing himself to relax his tensed up muscles. "Willow, get over it. Bloody hell, woman, it's been two weeks." He shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, and ended up causing himself more pain than comfort. God, he couldn't wait to get back to the twentieth century, where comfort was only a mattress away.  
  
"Well, yeah, okay, I'll get over it," she told him, cleaning up the bloodied sheet and torn strips of what was left of Spike's shirt. The strips went into the trash with the sheet. Carrying the basin of bloody water to the window, she dumped it out, tossing him another glare over her shoulder. "As soon as you tell me what really happened."  
  
Spike clenched his jaw in irritation. Two weeks of the same conversations and arguments got old real quick. So why didn't he just tell her the truth and end it now? Because he was a big pansy and he didn't want to cause her anymore pain than she'd already been through. "I've told you a thousand times. There was a vampire--"  
  
"Behind me," she said, sitting back down on the bed. "Right. I know." She sounded about as exasperated as he felt.  
  
Good. Maybe she'd drop it.  
  
"But you threw me against the wall, Spike. Knocked me out. And I never saw a vampire. Never saw a pile of dust afterward."  
  
Or not. Shoving her hand away from him, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Leave it," he bit out angrily. Nausea rose up in his stomach, and he held still for a few seconds before pushing himself to his feet. Pain tore through his stomach, dropping him to his knees. Pressing the bandage tighter to the suddenly bleeding-again wound, he tried to get up, but couldn't quite manage it. "Christ," he muttered, feeling humiliated.  
  
Willow sighed and knelt beside him, helping him up. As soon as he was steady on his feet, he pushed her away.  
  
"You're only making it worse," she muttered, slipping under his arm. She led him back to the bed, and forced him to sit down. "I'd prefer not to nurse you any longer than I have to. Stupid vampire."  
  
Spike laid down and covered his eyes with his arm, ignoring her. He'd prefer not to have her nurse him at all. This felt all too familiar, this helplessness. But, at least he wasn't in a wheelchair. And Angelus wasn't around. Well, not in the immediate vicinity anyway.  
  
"You gonna tell me what happened tonight then? Or do I have to guess about that too?"  
  
He took his arm off his eyes and glared at her. "No." Tell her he'd been taken down the very vampires whose presence he was trying to keep from her? Not likely. Especially since they were fledglings that shouldn't have been able to get the drop on him. He should've been able to dust them. Or at least fight them better than he had. Not ending with a knife in his stomach.  
  
She sat in the arm chair next to the bed. "Spike, something is going on. You're getting the crap beat out of you every night... that's not a normal thing. Is it?"  
  
He remained silent, choosing not to exercise his right to bitch at her.  
  
She sighed heavily, sounding so put upon he almost laughed. "You dragged me here to this stupid demon boarding house, you make me stay inside all night, not allowing me to go with you... I could use a little aggression-getting-out too, you know. And Mrs. Pressman is extremely creepy, I swear she stands outside the room all night while you're gone. Listening." She waited a split second for a reply, then went on, not giving him a chance to respond even had he been going to. "I've heard her out there. The floor creaks."  
  
"Have you tried looking to see if she's out there?" he asked, hiding his laughter. Mrs. Pressman was rather creepy, even he thought so, but he doubted she was listening outside their room. She was just an old woman. A bitch, yes, but human and harmless.  
  
"Yes. I haven't caught her yet, but I know she's out there." She frowned and shook her head. "I can feel her. Or I can feel something anyway."  
  
Spike shrugged lightly, making sure not to jar his wound. "Don't know what to tell you, pet." The old lady wasn't a something, sure she ran a demon boarding house, but she herself wasn't one, at least not to his knowledge.  
  
After Angelus' attack at Willow's place, Spike had decided it would be best if they left. Joe and Sam were out there, and chances were they'd be coming back. He didn't want Willow to know about them, didn't want her to run into them. Using the excuse that she'd be looked at as a murder suspect if she didn't disappear too, he got her to come with him. She packed all her things and left with him without a word. He thought maybe she was relieved to be getting out of there. Bad memories and all that.  
  
Willow tapped his foot with her hand, trying to get his attention. "Hey, space case."  
  
"What?" he yawned. "Trying to get some sleep here."  
  
"I said, how's Dru doing?" The window suddenly held a lot of interest for her. She went over to it, opened it, leaned out of it, all just to avoid looking at him.  
  
He could've told her he didn't mind when she asked about Dru. But, then he'd have to give up these amusing avoidance scenes. He didn't like what Angelus and Darla were doing to Dru, but he knew it was necessary for her to become the woman he fell in love with. Insanity and all. So it didn't bother him to talk about it. It was the watching that angered him. And he had to watch. Had to see for himself exactly what they'd done to her.  
  
"Child's play tonight. Just followed her around, making sure she knew someone was there. Never let her see him though."  
  
"Does he ever?" she asked. "I mean, does she know he's the one that's killing her family?" She frowned, looking out the window again.  
  
"No. She still thinks he's her savior." Oops, he'd let a little anger through that time.  
  
"Spike?"  
  
Her voice was quiet, hesitant, and he knew she was about to ask him something she didn't really want to know about. She seemed to ask those kinds of questions a lot lately. "Hmm?" was all he said, just a simple inquiry to let her know he was listening.  
  
"Did you really torture people with railroad spikes?" She closed the window, and sat beside him. "I mean-- well, did you?"  
  
He considered lying, or telling her half the truth, but as he opened his mouth to lie, the truth came out. "Yes." Ah, hell, now she was going to be weird around him. Might as well go all the way. "Liked it too." Honesty probably wasn't the best policy here, since she was looking a bit angry.  
  
"Why? I mean, sure, you're a demon and all that. But what is it about causing people pain that's so fun for you?" He shrugged, but that wasn't enough for her. "I really want to know."  
  
He didn't know how to answer that one. Hurting people was just fun. That's all. Seeing the hurt and pain on their faces as he cut into them, or stabbed them... well, it just did something for him. Admittedly he wasn't as bloodthirsty as Angelus, Dru, or Darla, but he still liked to hurt people. Even now, he wouldn't mind hurting Willow. And yet, at the same time, he wanted to spare her pain... though her neck was looking rather tempting at the moment.  
  
He needed to feed. Get some of his strength back. But it wouldn't be from her. Unless, of course, she offered herself to him. No, not even then.  
  
"I don't know. I just like it," he said irritably. There was no way to explain to a human what it felt like to be a demon. "Why do you like ice cream? Or jumping out of airplanes? It's a demon-thing."  
  
She nodded and bit her lip. "Okay." And that's all she said. She took him at his word, and went back to the armchair. The book she'd been reading when he came stumbling through the door, bleeding and damn near passing out, was on the floor beside her. She picked it up with a sigh, and started reading.  
  
Though she was angry at him, and possibly the world in general, she was quickly engrossed in the stories she was reading. He'd bought her that book and a couple of others a few nights before. Poe and Shakespeare. He smiled, remembering her reaction to the small gifts.  
  
She'd squealed and jumped up to take them from him, grinning from ear to ear. He'd been pleased with himself for making her so happy, because it wasn't often that she smiled anymore. And the small kiss on his cheek hadn't been bad either.  
  
Spike sighed and got to his feet, more carefully this time. Her blood was tempting him, and he was in desperate need of some. "I'll be back... later," he muttered, holding his stomach with one arm and putting his T-Shirt on with the other.  
  
"Where are you going?" she asked, standing up to help him. Ignoring his glaring look, she took the shirt from him, and put it on him. "You can hardly move, you can't dress yourself, and you're probably low on blood... oh." She frowned, stepping away from him in alarm. "But, you can't go out there like this."  
  
"Why the bloody hell not?" he snarled, anger at her making him growl a bit more than he'd intended. What the hell was she backing away from him for? Wasn't like he was going to eat her. He could damn well control himself.  
  
For the time being.  
  
Instead of answering, she tossed him her book. "Here."  
  
He caught it against his chest with one hand, groaning when his wound sent sharp jabbing pains in every direction, and started a dull ache to accompany the rest of his sore muscles.  
  
"Bloody God damn hell," he ground out, throwing the book across the room. It banged against the wall with a loud thump, startling Willow. She jumped a little, but didn't back down. Stupid human didn't know how much danger she was in at the moment. Forcing his face not to change was easier said than done, but he managed it. Just barely. "What the hell'd you do that for?" he yelled.  
  
"To prove a point," she told him, sounding like a teacher lecturing a student. "And... hello. Point proven." She gestured to him with her open hands. "You can't protect yourself against a book, let alone anything else that might be out there. And if you die, I'm stuck here, so--"  
  
"Right." Of course, that was what was wrong. She wasn't worried about him. And that pissed him off. Pissed him off to no end. Why the hell didn't she care about him? He cared about her. He didn't want her to die. Or get hurt.  
  
Well, he wasn't sticking around to worry about it now. "I don't have a whole lot of choice here. If I want to heal faster, which I do, I need to eat."  
  
"Well," she looked around them as if bags of blood were just going to be sitting there waiting for her to notice them. "But, I don't want to be stuck here. And..." She looked away for a second, then straightened her back. "Do you have to have a lot? To heal?"  
  
He had a pretty good idea where she was going with her questions, and he was all for nibbling on her. She tasted absolutely wonderful... or she had a century before. Still did, he was sure. "Yes."  
  
"Do you need it all at once, or can you pace it out?" she wondered. "Because, I have blood, and it's just sitting there doing nothing. Except keeping me alive," she added with a nervous chuckle.  
  
He was shaking his head before she finished talking. "I'd love to snack on you, but I don't want to take the chance that I can't control myself." Grabbing his cloak from the back of the chair, he slid one arm in, and was trying to get his other arm in without all the pain when she put her hand on his arm to stop him. "Willow, go away. I'm leaving."  
  
She yanked on his cloak, trying to get him to relinquish it, but he wasn't giving in. And then she stunned the hell out of him by shoving him against the wall. "Take it or leave it, Spike, it's the only time I'm offering it to you. And only because I need you so that I can get back to Sunnydale." She tilted her head to the side, offering him her neck.  
  
Spike snarled, in a not-entirely human way, and shoved her away from him. Well no wonder, he thought to himself, feeling the familiar ridges decorating his face. It had turned sometime after she'd shoved him, he wasn't even sure when, and he was reaching out to grab her. To yank her head aside, and take what he so badly wanted. But he stopped. "Get away from me. Now," he ordered. The stupid bint stayed where she was, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning closer.  
  
"Here's your chance to show me just how 'pleasurable' it can be," she told him, and by the way she said it, he knew she didn't believe it was possible.  
  
So, maybe he should just show her how much fun it could be-- no. Bloody hell, he wouldn't be able to stop himself if he tasted her now. Contrary to his earlier thoughts, he was quickly losing control. His hunger was fast approaching the point where instinct took over, and control went out the window.  
  
"Come on," she taunted, "I'm not letting you out of here, so, it's either me, or Mrs. Pressman." She giggled a little, and started toward the door when he remained crouched on the floor. "Mrs. Pressman it is then."  
  
He was so far beyond control now, that when he saw his prey getting away, he jumped on her with a growl, knocking them both to the floor. His stomach got jarred in the process, but he paid it no heed. Straddling her waist, he bared his fangs to her, and shoved her head to the side. The high collar of her dress was in the way, so he ripped it all the way down the front, ignoring her shout of surprise, and her sudden struggles. He slid his fangs into her neck with a groan, tasting her blood for the first time in too long.  
  
It was as good as he remembered.  
  
She stiffened underneath him, went absolutely still. He was pretty sure even her breathing had stopped. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was scaring her, but he didn't care.  
  
"Pleasurable," she whispered, "it's supposed to be pleasurable." She started to shove at him in panic.  
  
He held her tighter, sucking her blood out of her as quickly as he could, wanting to drain her dry. His free hand slid down to her waist, holding her against him. "Fight me," he whispered against her neck, grinning widely, "I enjoy it."  
  
Her struggles stopped. A few seconds later, her hands moved under his shirt, caressing his chest. She raked her nails down his flesh, getting him all worked up, then pressed a finger to his wound. He growled and sat up, glaring down at her. "Bitch," he snarled.  
  
She didn't look at him, or acknowledge him in any way, just grabbed the ripped ends of her dress and tried to close it. "So much for pleasant." Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared up at the ceiling.  
  
With fresh blood in him, Spike was quickly regaining control. He suddenly realized that he was straddling Willow, and eyeing her bare stomach. Her blood was in his mouth, on his lips, and dripping down her neck. Without thought, he leaned down and licked the blood dripping down her shoulder, pushing away the torn edges of her dress to get better access.  
  
"Please stop," she whispered, stiffening up again.  
  
Spike forced his face to change back, and lifted his head. Damn the guilt. He shouldn't be feeling any. Christ, his life sucked.  
  
Her eyes darted to his, then went back to ceiling-watching.  
  
"I tried to tell you," he insisted. "To warn you. But, you wouldn't listen. As usual." She was pretty mad. Well, she could stay that way, he wasn't about to soothe her hurt feelings. He'd fought against this. She was the only one to blame here.  
  
"Done yet?" she asked, sounding disinterested. "It's cold down here."  
  
He looked down at her half naked body under his. She was beautiful, as he'd always known she would be. He'd felt her against him, held her, been held by her, even undressed her to clean up a wound, but this was the first time he'd actually *seen* her body. Part of it.  
  
"Almost," he said softly.  
  
Leaning down, he let his face turn, and slowly, gently slid his fangs into the holes he'd already made. He darted his tongue out, tasting her blood, flesh, and sweat. It was intoxicating and heady stuff, but this time he kept control. Sucking lightly at the wounds, he drew her blood into his mouth, caressing her stiff shoulders until she started to relax. He shifted his face again, and kissed the wound.  
  
"Pleasant," he told her smugly, getting to his feet. His stomach was feeling better. It was far from being healed, but it didn't hurt with every move he made.  
  
She sat up, holding her dress closed. "Next time I try to goad you into biting me, remind me of tonight." Pressing her hand to her neck, she stood up, sighing, completely giving up on holding her dress together.  
  
Once again, his eyes fell to her stomach and breasts, and the bite marks there. Bite marks? These then, were the bite marks she'd refused to tell him about. "Those are his?" he asked, motioning to her.  
  
"What?" she asked, looking down with a frown. Her eyes widened, and she spun away. "No, they're mine. Happy now?" Grabbing his T-Shirt from the bed, she started to undress. "Turn."  
  
Spike turned, not wanting to tick her off anymore than she already was. "Is that why you wouldn't tell me back at the pub? You thought I'd be celebrating? What do you think vampires do? Sit around high five-ing each other for killing humans?" Anger was making another appearance. This time it wasn't focused on Willow, it was focused on the son of a bitch who'd bitten her, unfortunately, he wasn't here, and she was. So she was getting the brunt of it.  
  
"Maybe. How should I know?" she asked, tossing her torn dress on the chair and sitting on the bed. "In my experience, vampires aren't the kindest of creatures."  
  
He turned back around, leaning against the wall. "The one that did those... he's dead, right? He's the one that--"  
  
"Yes," she said impatiently, crawling under the covers. The elaborately decorated bedspread bulged slightly when she drew her knees up to her chest. "Yes, it is. And yes he is. He's dead, Spike. I killed him. I--" she stopped with a frown, rolled over and pulled the covers up to her chin. "Good night."  
  
  
  
Spike shut the door quietly behind him, leaving the oblivious sleeping Willow in their room. She'd finally fallen asleep an hour before, but he'd forced himself to wait, rather than charging out the door, possibly to be stopped by her again. He crept down the dark, narrow hallway, before realizing what he was doing. Creeping through a demon boarding house like a bleedin' human would.  
  
Taking the stairs two at a time, he patted down his pockets for his cigarettes. "Bloody hell," he muttered, stopping near the bottom of the stairwell. He'd left his cigarettes up in the room. Shrugging, he continued down, not willing to chance returning and waking her up.  
  
"Mr. Giles," a voice called from the front parlor.  
  
As he always did upon hearing himself called the name he'd chosen on the spur of the moment, Spike rolled his eyes. Willow had gotten quite a kick out of it, after looking around for Rupert or one of his relatives.  
  
Sighing, he headed through the double doors across from the stairs. Mrs. Pressman was standing at the window with her back to the room, her favorite position.  
  
He looked around the dark room with distaste. He hated this room. It was all dark wood, dark purple drapes, and oriental rugs. A huge oak desk sat proudly across the room from him, its surface neat and orderly, like the rest of the house.  
  
Ignoring the overwhelmingly stuffy décor, he turned his attention back to the elderly woman at the window, dressed in--what else?--purple. "Yeah?" Was Willow right? Was Mrs. Pressman more than she pretended to be? It was possible. So many odd things had happened lately that he'd almost be surprised if nothing was off here.  
  
"I hope this isn't going to be a recurring situation," she said sternly. "I may run a demon boarding house, but I have no tolerance for disruptions in my home." She turned, eyeing him reproachfully, then went back to staring out the window.  
  
"Won't happen again," he assured her, glaring at her back. How did she know what had happened upstairs? Had she been listening like Willow believed she was? It was possible the older woman had been walking by, or they'd been loud enough to be heard downstairs. Maybe one of the other tenants complained.  
  
It made him angry that others had heard their argument, and might know more of their business than they needed to. "By the way, my wife--" he heard a quiet snort from Mrs. Pressman, but continued on, "says she's heard someone outside our door while I'm out. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" he asked suspiciously.  
  
She turned again, facing him fully. "And what is this person doing?" she inquired politely.  
  
"Listening." He raised an eyebrow at her, waiting.  
  
She shook her head sharply. "Your... wife, must be imagining it. Perhaps she's afraid. After all, she is one human among a house full of demons, and not a very strong human at that." She gave him a false smile, tucking her hands under her shawl.  
  
Spike strode over to the old lady, not grabbing her like he wanted to, not even getting in her face, no, he simply frowned, letting her see his anger. "That 'human' is also an experienced Wiccan--" she looked at him blankly, not understanding the term. He rolled his eyes. "Witch, Mrs. Pressman. She's a witch. Filled with magick. She could do more damage than most of the demons living here." He kept to himself the part where it would probably be on accident. "So I'd be mindful of that if I were you."  
  
The corners of her lips turned up into a secretive little smirking smile. "Oh, I see," was all she said.  
  
He gritted his teeth together to keep from reaching out and snapping her neck. "You see what?" he snarled. Why had he never realized what a snobby bitch the woman was? Probably because he hadn't dealt much with her. His time was spent either out watching Dru, out eating, or in with Willow.  
  
"That answers my question as to how she kept from being killed by you." She swished her skirted self over to the door, dismissing him with a small nod. "Good night, Mr. Giles."  
  
He was pretty damn proud of himself for keeping control when what he really wanted to do was... well, gosh, once again he wanted to snap her neck. Nothing like an old favorite. He walked past her, out the door, across the hall, and outside. Fury coursed through him at her insinuation. How dare she think he was bewitched? That Willow was controlling him.  
No one controlled him, no one pushed his buttons or flipped his switches, damn it. No one. 'Cept maybe Dru, but that was different. Crossing the wet cobblestone street lit only by the minuscule light escaping behind the clouds, he stretched his neck, cracking it. Enough of this non killing crap, first human he saw--that didn't look too nasty--well, he was catching up on some much needed killing. Possibly even some torturing.  
  
  
  
Instead of maiming and torturing, Spike found himself outside Joe's Pub, listening to the sounds of drunken laughter and loud voices pouring through the door.  
  
His run-in with Joe and Sam had been in the park, not here. He hadn't been back here until tonight. Apparently it was now a demon pub.  
  
"Guess Joe and Sam didn't close up shop," he muttered as a vampire pushed past him with a snarl and a glare. Shoving the door open, Spike walked in like he owned the place. No one turned to look at him this time, and Spike wasn't surprised, because he was among his own kind. Things looked much the same as they had before, aside from all the demons, the slime on the walls, and blood trails on the floor. And he was pretty sure that the pile of dead bodies in the corner was new. Most of the tables and chairs were filled with drunken demons of all colors, sizes, and shapes; some playing cards, some eating, others simply sitting by themselves, tossing back a few drinks.  
  
Kinda reminded him of the pub scene in Gremlins.  
  
The bar looked like a good place to start, so he headed that way, hoping to find a familiar dark-haired Irish bloke to serve him. He had a bone to pick with that guy... well, actually he had a stake to poke that guy with.  
  
The joint was packed to the gills, most of the seats taken by grotesquely misshapen demons, and vampires that didn't look too friendly. Shoving a vampire off of one of the seats, Spike sat down with a sigh, ignoring the shouts and growls swirling around him. The demon beside him smiled and nodded, looking all friendly and talkative. Spike looked away, not in any mood to make conversation.  
  
"Hey!" the evicted vampire growled, grabbing Spike's shoulder to turn him around. "I was sitting there, mate."  
  
Spike rolled his eyes and turned around under his own volition, not getting off the stool. Planting his feet firmly on the floor, he sized up the demon in front of him and found him extremely lacking. Reminded him a little of Xander. "And now I'm sitting here. Go be somewhere else." His mood hadn't lightened much since leaving the boarding house, and was growing steadily worse.  
  
If Willow decided to come by here one day--or night--she was sure to be killed, and he couldn't let that happen. At the very least, she'd be upset. She'd lived here for almost two years, made this place her home, and now her friends were dead and running around as the very things that had killed them.  
  
And it was all Angelus' fault. He had issues, he knew this.  
  
The vampire still in front of him, now looking extremely pissed at Spike's easy dismissal of him, aimed a fist at Spike's face. Having anticipated this, Spike ducked, and pulled a stake from his cloak, neatly dusting him. He kicked at the pile of dust in front of him, causing plumes of dead vampire to float around in the air, getting all over his clothes. He brushed himself off, and turned back to the bar.  
  
The demon next to him started laughing uproariously, like that was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. He was a big, tall, hairy Chewbacca looking thing, and he was annoying. Spike raised an imperious eyebrow at him.  
  
Tall, dark, and hairy chuckled some more, slapping him on the back. "That's funny."  
  
Turning back to the bar, Spike leaned over, looking for Joe. "Whatever, mate. Where's Joe? The, uh, owner, I guess? Or Samantha." All that was behind the bar at the moment were two green and blue iridescent demons fighting over a bottle of whiskey, their big bug eyes glaring at each other. The place was in complete chaos. Spike actually found himself respecting Willy for keeping his place orderly and basically fight-free. "They here?" he asked Chewy, turning to face the hairy behemoth.  
  
Chewy grinned, nodding as if Spike had told him a joke. "I don't know."  
  
Spike stared at him for a moment. "Yeah, right," he muttered, "smile and nod, you bloody idiot." Standing up, he weaved his way through demon after demon to make it to the stairs. Blood smeared the walls all the way upstairs, and most of the steps were covered as well. The stairs were empty, and only one vampire was in the hall upstairs, she was feeding off a human girl, holding the body close as she watched him approach.  
  
Spike spared her barely a glance as he pushed past them and into Willow's room. Shoving open the door, he stood in the entrance, glancing around for her former friends. Anger and fury flowed through him as he took everything in. Bloody hell, if he'd shown up one night later, Willow might be one of the bodies strewn around the room, or one of the vampires feeding from them. If his heart could beat, it would be pounding right now. Was him finding her that night a coincidence?  
  
Among all the dead humans were at least twenty vampires, most of them were naked and in the midst of one sex act or another. On the floor, the dresser, against the walls... on her bed. Fangs and flesh, bodies and moans, shouts of pleasure, screams of pain; they were everywhere.   
  
"Join us," one of the gyrating bodies whispered from across the room. "Cor, you're a handsome one, aren't you?"  
  
Spike ignored the man, and turned to leave, but found Chewy blocking his path. "Move," Spike growled, when the demon simply stood there, staring down at him. Sidestepping him, he descended the stairs two at a time, shoving a few newly arrived people out of his way as he went, and took off in the direction of the other bedroom. It was in a similar shape as Willow's, but empty of anything alive, or undead. Human bodies were strewn across the bed, the dresser, the table. Every available surface held something bloody or fleshy.  
  
Spike's hunger flared, and he was a little disgusted at himself. Grabbing one of the fresher bodies, a teenage girl who looked a bit like Willow's witch, he sank his teeth into the cleanest area he could find and drained what was left of her. Two more bodies later, and his immediate hunger was satisfied. The voices in the outer area had grown louder, and he could still hear the voices upstairs raised in pleasure. Sickened by the place, he left through the back way.  
  
In his experience alleys had a way of turning out badly, so he didn't linger. As he neared the street, he saw a tall figure standing there, facing him. Annoyed beyond belief now, he pushed past the Chewbacca wannabe and started back home. Willow would not know about this place, there was no way on Earth he would ever tell her about Joe and Sam now. She'd want to come down here and dust the vampires in residence, and chase off all the demons she could, and he couldn't allow that. Without a doubt, she'd die. There were just too damn many of them.  
  
A few blocks past Joe's Pub, he heard footsteps behind him, and turned to face Chewbacca. "Stop following me home, I'm not keeping you." Chuckling at his own words, he muttered, "You're probably not even house broken."  
  
Chewy laughed loudly and Spike tossed him a look over his shoulder.  
  
"Freak." Ignoring the dog following him, Spike headed home. After getting a good look at the worst behavior vampires could be involved in... it was time to go back home to Willow.  
  
"Spike."  
  
Not stopping to answer, Spike continued down the street, crossing near the gardens. As he was about to cross another street, he realized Chewy had called him by name. He spun around and faced the tall hairy demon. "Who the hell are you and what do you want?" He attempted to shove Chewy back against a tree and hold him there until he got his answers, but the demon didn't budge an inch when Spike's hand grabbed him. Revising his strategy, Spike stood back a few feet and waited. No loss of manliness there, nope. None at all.  
  
Chewy stood up to his full height of approximately six foot seven, and stared down at Spike. "I was sent here to make sure you didn't kill the two you were after tonight. And to make sure you don't."  
  
"That right?" Spike asked, raising an eyebrow like he was impressed. Chewy nodded, forcing a snort from Spike. "Well, tough shit. I find them, they die." He turned away and crossed the street, hoping Willow was still asleep, because he wasn't looking forward to the conversation he just knew she'd drag out of him.  
  
"You kill them," Chewy began, but Spike cut him off.  
  
"You still here?" He rolled his eyes at the tenacity of hired goons. "Be a good little doggy and run back to your master and tell him you didn't find me."  
  
"You kill them," he continued, as if Spike hadn't even spoken, "and you'll stop everything from happening. You don't want that. It'd go badly for you."  
  
Spike stopped in his tracks, and slowly turned around to face the demon. He stared at him for a second, and then another, then let his anger out. "Jesus Christ, does every bloody person in Europe know I'm traveling through time?" he yelled.  
  
Bloody hell, who *didn't* know about him and Willow? He suddenly felt like every move they made was being directed by an unseen hand. He wasn't sure he was even in control anymore. Had he ever been?  
  
Chewy glanced around them in amusement. "They do now," he chuckled, tossing Spike a crooked grin.  
  
Spike was anything but amused. He sighed explosively, narrowing his eyes at the demon. "Who are you?"  
  
Chewy's ears perked up at the sound of a barking dog off in the distance, and Spike had to fight back the ridiculous urge to laugh at the picture the demon made. He was tall, covered in brown hair over most of his body, except his face, which was completely bare, and huge paws that were brushing absently at his black silk suit.  
  
"My name isn't important, it's constantly changing. You can call me anything you like." He reached out a paw, waiting for Spike to shake it.  
  
Spike ignored the paw, preferring to dig a cigarette out of his cloak and light it. "How about Fido? That good for you? Or maybe Spot?" With the cigarette clamped firmly in his lips, he looked sideways at the demon. "I'm getting sick of being jerked around by the fates, or powers, or whatever you guys are." He paused for a second, looking dangerously at the demon. "You that stupid Time Stabilizer thing? If so, I owe you one."  
  
Ole Chewy shook his head, stepping closer after glancing around to make sure they were alone. "I'm not the Stabilizer. I told you, I'm on your side. I was sent here to keep you and Willow from changing too much."  
  
Spike's eyes narrowed at the demon. "That's what the Time guy said. You should check with each other, maybe read your memos every once in a while, because I've gotten the message already. Coulda saved you a trip."  
  
"The Time Stabilizer didn't send me," Chewy told him, looking around again. "I'm here on my own. The Stabilizer's gotten a little... Well he's not as involved as he should be, so he doesn't have your best interests at heart."  
  
"And you do?" Spike asked dubiously. "Why should I believe you?" He spun around, stalking a few feet away before turning back angrily. "Why should I believe any of you? Quit yanking my blasted chain and tell me what's going on, because I'm tired of it. All of it. I want this whole thing over."  
  
Instead of answering his question, he decided to state a fact that Spike already knew. "You came here to kill Joe and Samantha." His puppy dog eyes focused on Spike's face as if he'd just solved all the world's problems in one fell swoop.  
  
Spike sighed explosively. "So? What the hell does that mean?"  
  
Chewy was no longer as detached as he had been. His own anger was sweeping over him. "If you want this whole thing over, as you just said, then kill them. But if you'd like to continue down the path you were chosen for, then you'll leave them be," he growled. "Things are in play here that you have no idea about, and those two worthless vampires are still needed for time to proceed as it was meant to, so I suggest you leave them alone until they've completed their end of things."  
  
"Well, thanks, yeah that clears it all up. I'll just be on my merry way then." He threw his cigarette to the ground and started off again. His stomach hurt, he was tired as hell, pissed beyond belief, and now there was a big Chewbacca-looking thing telling him to leave a couple of pathetic vampires alone because it could stop it all time. Right.  
  
Fido sighed and grabbed Spike's cloak, slamming him against a tree. He had much better luck at it than Spike had earlier. He sighed and moved closer, towering over Spike. "I told you to lay off of them."  
  
Spike rubbed the back of his head. "And I told you to go to hell."  
  
Fido grinned widely, showing for the first time, the big long fangs he owned. "No, you didn't. And you won't."  
  
Spike pushed him away and moved past the tree... well, he tried, but Chewy grabbed him and yanked him back into place. "See, I can't kill you or Willow, but I can do other things... things that she might not like. Things that'll make sure you do what I say." He backed away, looking like he was listening to something, then smiled. "I hear Willow likes furry demons," he chuckled, "but doesn't like to be touched... now what *could* I do with that information?"  
  
"Touch her and I'll--" Spike began, but Chewy didn't like being growled at apparently, because he punched Spike in the mouth.  
  
"I won't touch her unless you give me a reason to." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Don't give me a reason," he whispered, then suddenly he was gone in flash of yellow light.  
  
Spike didn't waste time looking for him, he took off running toward the boarding house.  
  
  
  
Willow's eyes, already stretched open to the breaking point, widened even further when she heard another creak outside the door. Her hand tightened around the scrap of black cloth she still clung to, even though Spike was with her every day now. It'd become a security blanket, and since he wasn't here at the moment... she felt she needed it.  
  
She wished she knew where he was. What had he been thinking, going off somewhere, doing who knew what, leaving her alone? By herself. With the scary Mrs. Pressman listening in on her. Or maybe--she shuddered--watching her. Wait a damn minute. She was no longer the scaredy cat she'd been when this stupid trip began. She was an independent woman used to depending on no one except herself, and here she was huddled on the bed like a coward.  
  
Well, no more damn it.  
  
She threw the covers back, climbed out of bed, shoved her arms into her robe, the strip of cloth into the pocket, and unlocked the door. All quickly, but quietly.  
  
When she opened the door, she was surprised to find, not Mrs. Pressman, but a man on his way past her door. Mid twenties, shorter-than-was-the-style black hair, tall... and definitely handsome. Probably had beautiful eyes too, but it was too dark in the hallway to see them.  
  
It was kind of sad, because she felt nothing, just a simple appreciation for his handsome good looks.  
  
He turned from unlocking the door beside hers, an apologetic smile on his face. Oh, cute smile. She smiled in return, trying not to look like she'd just woken up and gone storming out the door.  
  
"I'm very sorry, ma'am, I didn't mean to startle you." His eyes fell on her state of undress, and she could've sworn he blushed. How adorable.  
  
"You're American," she said, as if he weren't aware of the fact. Embarrassed, she closed her thin white robe a little tighter, and brushed her hair over Spike's bitemark. "I mean, I'm American too. From California."  
  
His smile grew even wider. "Yes, ma'am, I just arrived this week. I'm from Denver. Uh, that's in Colorado in case you didn't know. Name's Phillip, Phillip John Harris." He closed the distance between them, and held out his hand.  
  
Strange coincidence. Could this guy be a relative of Xander's? He could be Xander's great-great-great-great grandfather. What were the odds? Only about a trillion to one. She shook his hand absently. Brown. His eyes were brown. Not beautiful, just pleasant to look at.  
  
He cleared his throat, and she realized she hadn't introduced herself. That she'd been, instead, staring at him like a doofus. "Um, I'm sorry. I'm Willow Ro-- um, Giles. Willow Giles."  
  
"Charmed, Miss Giles," he smiled again, a nice sweet, shy smile. "I wonder if we mightn't have coffee tomorrow? Or tea if you prefer. It's been a while since I've talked to anyone from home."  
  
Willow grinned, knowing exactly what he meant. The British were all well and good, and London was cool in the extreme, especially eighteen-sixty London, but she missed California, and Phillip was about as close as she'd come in years. "I'd love to, thank you." Hearing a door close downstairs, she leaned over the edge of the railing to see if it was who she thought it was.  
  
Sure enough, Spike strode quickly into view. Looked like he was still hurt too... she looked closer, biting back a groan. He had blood on his mouth. Great. Phillip, the one and only other human in the house that she cared to talk to, and Spike was about to scare him off.  
  
She quickly made plans to meet him at noon the next day, and went inside her room, hoping Phillip would do the same.  
  
Throwing off her robe, she hopped into bed and covered up. Exhaustion was nipping at her heels. After all, she'd had a full day. She'd patched up Spike, argued with Spike, been bitten by Spike, been ogled by Spike, and met a gorgeous guy that she was having coffee with tomorrow... if Spike didn't scare him off. Pretty darn full day if you asked her.  
  
Ten minutes later, the door creaked open, and she could see Spike silhouetted in the doorway. He was facing out, talking to someone. Damn it. Had to be Phillip. Well, now he'd freak out and run off to another boarding house probably.  
  
"Yeah," Spike was saying, nodding a few times... sounding impatient and annoyed... just like she'd expected him to be. "No, I don't mind." He turned to look at her a few times, and she thought maybe there was a worried look in there, but she couldn't be sure, it was gone too fast.  
  
Willow watched him close the door, and lock it. Watched him remove his cloak and boots. Watched him toss her short, indecipherable looks. Though she was more comfortable with his presence now, she still had to force herself to watch him ditch the shirt and waistcoat. When he dropped his hands to the waistband of his breeches, she looked away. Nausea roiled in her stomach, churning like waves in the ocean. He's not going to take them off, she told herself, he's not going to take them off, because he's never done that before, and he knows I don't want him to.  
  
"You think that punk's the one that's been listening outside the door?" Spike asked, turning back toward the bed, his pants still on.  
  
She shook her head, sitting up. "I doubt it, he just moved in. Besides, I'm convinced it's Mrs. Pressman, she's a freak."  
  
Spike didn't disagree with her. "I think the boy's got his eye on you. Seemed real interested to know if we were married." He raised his eyes to hers, gauging her reaction to this news.  
  
She shrugged, smoothing down the blanket. "You're bleeding."  
  
He wiped his mouth off, checking for blood. "Ran into a demon." He sat beside her, tossing her a sideways glance. "Do me a favor and don't leave here without me."  
  
"Anything particular reason why?" she asked. Something had given Spike a bloody lip, and if he wanted her to stay inside for a few days until he cleared out of London, she'd do so. Not like she had anywhere she wanted to go anyway.  
  
"Chewbacca," he answered with a grin, then quickly changed the subject to one she was less comfortable with. "Willow, you've been faithful to little miss for over a hundred years, I think she'll understand if you--"  
  
She laid back down, curling up on her side. Away from Spike. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not real fond of being touched."  
"I've noticed," he said quietly, laying back as well. "You don't mind me touching you too much. Why not him?"  
  
"Because I don't want him to," she said angrily. The anger was mostly directed at herself for not being able to move past this as fast as she thought she should. "I don't even want you to, but it's a small room, with one bed, and I mostly don't realize it since I'm asleep, and you don't touch me like... that, and--" a sob escaped her, tears following closely behind. The first tears she'd cried since the night Joe and Sam died.  
  
Everything she'd told herself earlier were lies, she didn't like it here. Not during this time, and not to live for months, or years at a time. "I want to go home. I know we can't, but I want to so badly. I hate it here, Spike, I hate the smell, and the sounds, and the people, and... I just want to go home."  
  
"I know," he said sympathetically, lightly nudging her arm. "Even I miss Sunnydale. And the nineteen-nineties." He fell silent, giving her time to cry it out, or cry some more, whichever she chose.  
  
She chose to cry some more. Cried herself to sleep, quietly, hoping he didn't realize she was still being a baby. 


	13. Time Stitch 13

Disclaimer: See chapter 1, 6, or 11.  
  
PART 13  
  
"I can't believe this was here all along, and I never knew it," Willow laughed. She grinned at Phillip as they walked along the path, munching on their crushed, flavored ice. It wasn't quite the same as an Italian Ice, or a Slurpee, but it wasn't bad. It suited the mood and the affair. Vauxhall Gardens was an amazing place.  
  
Couples milled about the paths, consumed by each other's company. It was the first time Willow had seen normal behavior--for her--from lovers, and married couples. The night was nice, not too chilly, or warm, not too dark, but more importantly, not too brightly lit. She could've swore she heard moaning coming from one of the bushes just off the path, but she didn't investigate.  
  
"And you've been here for almost two years?" Phillip chuckled. "You and your husband should get out more." His voice was light, but she heard the disdain in there for Spike. So many times over the past month, Willow caught the dislike, and the glares for her 'husband', so many times, she'd caught Phillip's appraising looks in her direction. But she'd never given him any reason to think there was any hope. Ever. Nor would she. First of all, she was gay now. Second of all, she didn't have the slightest inkling to be with someone, male or female, in a relationship capacity.  
  
Determined not to lose her good mood, she settled her hand on his arm and strolled unhurriedly beside him. "I keep telling William that, but you know him. He's more a homebody than a... outbody."  
  
Phillip nodded, staying quiet. Probably keeping his opinion to himself. "Except when he's gone all night long that is." Or not.  
  
She opened her mouth to tell him that Spike needed to be out at night to eat and avoid sun damage, but of course Phillip had no idea Spike was a vampire. Or that demons and such existed. Unbelievable for a man living in a demon boarding house, but, in the month since he'd moved in beside them, Willow hadn't seen one iota of weird behavior from him. No horns, or evilness. No blood drinking, or sacrificing. Nothing to make her go hmm, he's a demon.  
  
Instead of chiding him, she merely smiled, and stayed quiet. Neither spoke for the next few minutes, they just enjoyed the sights, sounds, and smells. Tired of holding her mask up, she dropped her arm for a second, looking around fully. Ooo, gymnasts, she thought, seeing a woman do a handspring in the grass off to the side. But another glance told another story.  
  
Twenty yards away, partially hidden by trees, there was snarling, growling, and vampires. The woman Willow had mistaken for a gymnast ran toward two of them, dusting one as she jumped on him. Willow bit her lip, wanting to help, but not wanting to alert Phillip. She also didn't want to get in the way of what looked to be the slayer.  
  
She slid her arm free of his, blocking his view. "Um, could you--" think, quick! "Get us some more of these ice... thingies? Please?"  
  
"Sure. Come on." He tried to pull her with him, but she shook her head.  
  
"I'll wait here." At his surprised look, she shrugged. "It's such a pretty view here." She made a show of looking around and enjoying the sights. "Lovely."  
  
"Willow, I can't leave you here alone. I--" he frowned, looking over her shoulder.  
  
Panicked and desperate now, she pushed him down the path a little. "Hurry. I am so parched."  
  
"I think we should go help that woman first, don't you?" he asked reprovingly. "Not all vampires are like William."  
  
Shocked didn't even begin to describe what she was feeling at the moment. Hearing a grunt of pain, she decided to be surprised later, and concentrate on the now. Sparing him a single confused look, she turned and ran to the trees with Phillip right behind her.  
  
The one vampire left had the girl on the ground, straddling her as he took out his obviously huge aggressions on her. She and Phillip ran, panting, into the trees, both of them tackling the vampire to the ground. Willow ended up in the best spot, far away from the vampire, and close to a stake. The woman who'd been pinned, jumped up, moving unbelievably fast in her long skirts. She grabbed the stake by Willow, tossed her a confused glare, and jumped on the vampire's back.  
  
"Get off, you bloody bint," the vampire roared, throwing his arms back as he stood up, trying to shake the girl off. The girl drew her arm back, and plunged the stake into the vampire's back.  
  
Willow almost had a heart attack right then and there. His accent was cockney, and his voice very similar to Spike's. For a moment, she thought it was Spike. And as he fell to the damp grass in a pile of dust, and the slayer dropped down onto his remains, Willow felt such an immediate sense of loss that it scared her.  
  
But it wasn't Spike, and she didn't have to examine the reasoning behind her fear of losing him.  
  
"All right," the girl said, standing and spinning toward Willow in one quick motion, her blonde hair fell loosely about her shoulders as she moved, reminding her a bit of Buffy. Her hands rested on her hips while her head tilted suspiciously to the side. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" Her British accent wasn't as clipped and harsh as Spike's, it was more like Giles' accent. Softer and smoother. But her tone and look was rude.  
  
Willow resisted the urge to put her own hands on her hips, settling instead for clasping her hands primly in front of her. "We're just--" she began, but the impatient slayer cut her off.  
  
"Demons. Well, he is," she corrected, pointing to Phillip, "I'm not quite sure what you are yet."  
  
"We're not demons," Willow insisted, deciding that she didn't like this girl. She was a snobby know-it-all, obviously upper crust. Bluebloods, Spike called them. The dreaded nobility. "I'm a witch. He's a human." Now she did cross her arms over her chest, feeling very defensive. "And you're the Slayer."  
  
"How did you know that?" she gasped, looking around them for a possible side-swipe attack. "Only demons themselves know of the slayer."  
  
"Watchers know too," Willow countered smugly, closing the distance between them. "And the Watcher's Council." Seeing Phillip watching them warily, she smiled at him, trying to reassure him. "Besides, I've known three different slayers in my time."  
  
The slayer raised her stake threateningly. "You're a witch?" she asked in her haughty tone. "A witch who is as young as you and has seen three slayers must be involved with dark magic."  
  
"Uh, no," Phillip said quickly, stepping in front of Willow to protect her. "She's a good witch. Though you'd never know it by the company she keeps." He tossed her a reproachful look before reaching out to disarm the slayer.  
  
"Phillip, don't--" Willow tried to warn him, but it was too late. He already had the stake in his hand, and two dumbfounded women staring at him. "Phillip?" How had he done that with such precision and speed? A niggling suspicion was worming its way through her mind.  
  
"I told you he was a demon," the slayer snapped with another glaring look.  
  
That was the suspicion that was trying to jump around her mind. She turned to Phillip, the man she'd known and lived next door to for a month. Had coffee and tea and lunch and dinner with. Talked with daily, and never heard a word about him being a demon.  
  
"You're a demon?" she asked disbelievingly, stomping her foot petulantly. "Dude, I can't believe you never said anything." She sighed deeply, extremely angry at him, and... "William never said anything either."  
  
"William probably doesn't know," Phillip shot back. "No one knows. I'm only half demon, and that half is Galapos, a peaceful race, so it doesn't matter." He straightened his shoulders, doing his fair share of glaring. "And I am not a dude," he told her, sounding extremely offended.  
  
"Whatever," Willow said dismissively. "And maybe it doesn't matter to you, but it certainly does to me." She took complete advantage of her long skirts, and flounced angrily away, unfortunately, her strides weren't long enough to gain any headway from the two.  
  
"Excuse me," the slayer said imperiously, "hey, witch. I'm not through with you."  
  
"Yeah, well I'm through with you," Willow tossed back, furious for having been lied to. "So go run to your Watcher and the Council, and leave me alone. And you," she told Phillip--no, the half-demon--walking beside her, "stay away from me. I get enough lies from William."  
  
"Who's William?" the slayer asked, walking on her other side, and showing no signs of leaving her alone. "Is he another demon?" There was definitely a sneer in her voice when she said that.  
  
Willow fisted her hands at her sides, forcing herself not to hit the slayer, or throw a fireball at her. "I'll bet your name is Fifi, or something like that," Willow sneered.  
  
The younger girl shook her head. "I'm not French. My name is Laura. Why?" She got in front of Willow and tried to halt their mad dash through the grounds of Vauxhall, but Willow didn't slow down or stop.  
  
"No reason, really. Just wanted to know. Slayer's generally have outrageous names, like Lucretia or Babette." She continued stomping down the path until she reached the entrance to the gardens. Looking both ways before crossing the street was something she did religiously now, since Spike had saved her from a painful death under the hooves of a horse that first night. Sometime during that quick left-right check, Laura left for greener pastures, hopefully for good.  
  
Unfortunately, Phillip hadn't.  
  
  
  
"Hey, Spike," Willow greeted loudly and with false cheer, slamming the door shut in Phillip's face. During the silence that fell after the door stopped rattling in its frame, she heard Phillip growl angrily. A human growl, not a demonic one. Hmph. "Guess what?"  
  
Spike, either asleep, or just resting, was lying in bed with his eyes closed. At her entrance, he sat up, opening his eyes. He looked bored. Of course he did. Didn't he always? Unless he was snacking on her. Then he was happy and growl-y.  
  
"What?" No interest whatsoever was in his voice, or on his face. He even yawned.  
  
Stupid vampire. "I ran into the Slayer tonight." Ah, she had his attention now, though he tried to hide it. He sat forward as she continued on in an angry voice. "Oh, and Phil's a demon. Isn't that nice?" She sat heavily on the chair across from the bed, shoving her skirts under her legs when they started to poof up in an annoying manner. She was really beginning to hate long skirts... in fact, when she got back to her own time, she'd wear only jeans, and sweats. For the rest of her life. When she got married, she wasn't going to wear a wedding dress; she'd wear shorts. "Her name's Laura," she added, glaring at the offending blue material.  
  
Spike nodded, unconcerned. "Great, I'll watch out for her." He laid back down, closing his eyes with another yawn.  
  
That was it? After his sudden interest, she'd been sure he'd say more than that. "You'll watch out for her," she repeated dumbly.  
  
"Mmm," he mumbled.  
  
"And Phillip being a demon means nothing to you?" She glared at his relaxed form. "Did you know?" He had better say no, otherwise she was going to hurt him. When he didn't answer at all, she called his name a few times. Still nothing, so she got up and shook him.  
  
"What?" he asked, finally rolling over to stare at her. "Slayer; got it. I'll be on the lookout. Anything else?"  
  
She looked down at him, not out of anger this time, but out of concern. It was only early evening, Spike was usually up much sooner than this. "Why are you so tired? Did something happen while I was gone?" She held her hand against his forehead, checking for... what? A fever? Did vampires even get sick?  
  
"No." He removed her hand from his forehead and settled back in to sleep. "Just tired."  
  
"You've been tired a lot lately. Maybe something's wrong," she told him, sitting back on her heels. She bit her lip, thinking. "Oh, ooo, I could do a spell to find out if--"  
  
His eyes snapped open, focusing on her face. "Willow, we have piss-poor luck when it comes to spells. Don't do any unnecessarily, okay?" He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her nod of assent. When she gave it to him, he sat up and stretched. "And, yes, I knew about Phillip. He's not dangerous though, so I didn't think it mattered."  
  
He'd known! Why that... jerk. "That's *so* not the point," she said angrily. Climbing to her feet, she moved over to the door and locked it. "You should've told me. He should've told me." She dragged the chair over in front of the door. If Phillip or Laura decided they wanted in, at least Spike and Willow would have a little warning before they were attacked.  
  
Spike watched her silently. "Is it the not knowing that bothers you, or the part where he's a demon?"  
  
She turned to him with her hands on her hips. He had to ask? Obviously he didn't know her at all. "What do you think, Spike?"  
  
He sat up, reaching out for his cigarettes. Finding the table by the bed empty, he threw the covers back and stalked over to his cloak, digging in the pockets. "I think this has less to do with not being told, and a whole lot more to do with what he is. I think," he told her, pausing momentarily to light his cigarette, "you don't like the fact that he's a demon, and that's what's got you miffed."  
  
Willow huffed at him, unable to believe he thought her species-ist. "Wrong," she growled in a fair imitation of him. "So very wrong." Doing a little more of that flouncing, she turned away and began undressing. It wasn't the easiest thing to do in these dresses, so she'd learned way back in the beginning to get front buttoning gowns if at all possible. The dark blue one she was wearing now was a front buttoned one, thankfully, and rather easy to remove. It only took about ten minutes all told. Grabbing Spike's worn T-Shirt, she shoved her arms into it, took a blanket and pillow from the bed, and settled down in the chair.  
  
Spike leaned back against the wall, smoking and watching her.  
  
She should make *him* take the chair. The very stiff, extremely upright chair. Sighing heavily, she drew her legs up and turned to the side, trying to get comfortable. A minute later she turned the other way, dropping her legs to the floor, and sinking down. Ugh. This was a bad idea. Finally giving up on the wing-backed chair, she tossed her pillow on the floor and joined it, covering up and closing her eyes. Shutting out the sight of Spike's knowing look was a whole lot easier than shutting out the nasty stench of his cigarette.  
  
And darn it, she was *not* species-ist. Her anger had nothing to do with finding out that Phillip was a demon. It was due to the fact that no one had felt the need to inform her. What if there'd been an emergency? What if they were attacked, and he was lying there bleeding to death, and the only thing that could save him was something she didn't know about because no one had informed her of the need to stand on one leg and chant Beatles lyrics backwards to stop his bleeding?  
  
How could Spike even ask her that? After all, her whole life in Sunnydale had revolved around demons and vampires. All evil creatures Giles said; that's why Buffy fought them, and yet, over the years she'd come to realize that wasn't always necessarily so. She didn't immediately damn them all for eternity just because they were demons. She'd even dated one. Sort of. Well, a werewolf. He was sort of a demon. An in-between. And Angel was too. Demon might've equaled evil in the beginning, but not anymore.  
  
And she'd had that opinion reinforced when Spike came along and he was all chipped and hanging around, and, okay, not real nice, or even friendly, but not constantly trying to kill them either. Hello, he'd kidnapped her to get the chip out of his head, not caring one whit about her or anything else, which was of the evil, but not of the hurting kind.  
  
She'd grown fond of him since that fateful night. How could she not? They spent all their time together when they weren't separated by five years. And tonight, when she thought Spike was being dusted by the slayer, for that one tiny moment when she'd thought it was him, her heart had froze and her mind had panicked.  
  
Now she was being accused of being prejudiced? Please, she scoffed, forcing herself not to listen to her aching back and climb into bed with the person doing the accusing.  
  
  
  
Spike knelt down beside Willow as she slept, listening to her deep, even breathing. He reached his hand out, smoothing back a stray lock of hair that'd fallen over her face. It still amazed him to see how long and dark it was now. Things had changed since they'd gotten separated. She'd changed. She was more mature, more independent. Stronger than she had been.  
  
He slid his hands under her and effortlessly picked her up, laying her down where she belonged. As he walked around the bed to his own side, he snatched the blanket and pillow from the floor and tossed them on the bed. Climbing under the covers beside Willow, he tried to think of one way in which he'd changed since Galway.  
  
No matter how hard he thought on it, he came up with a blank. Was it possible that he hadn't changed at all? That he was still the same vampire that left Sunnydale all those years ago?  
  
When he'd forced Willow to leave Sunnydale, he amended.  
  
He'd been quite the bastard, hadn't he? Looking back now, he couldn't believe some of the things he'd done to her. Hit her, bit her... nearly gotten her raped. His hands clenched in the bed sheets. As it stood now, if anyone else even thought of biting Willow, or hitting her, touching her... doing anything to harm her, he'd have to kill that person. Painfully. Torture would come into play.  
  
So perhaps he had changed.  
  
Spending so much time together traveling through time had bound them together. They were forced to rely on each other, to trust each other. To keep each other out of harm's way so that they could get back safely.  
  
He sighed, resisting the urge to light a cigarette. The hand-rolled cigarettes he pre-rolled every night left a lot to be desired. He didn't remember them tasting this bad the first time around. He leaned back, letting the blanket fall to his lap, resting his head on the flowered wallpaper behind him.  
  
He could feel a vampire near by, probably hunting his meal, killing without discrimination. Doing what Spike himself wanted to do. Would it be a quick death, or all full of torture and long drawn out pain? That was a question he used to ponder nightly, back when it was just him and Dru. But then life happened, and she left him, the implant was shoved into his cranium, and he'd forced a human witch to do a spell that got screwed up.  
  
Now he was laying in bed in a demon boarding house a hundred and forty years in the past, trying to ignore the feelings the human beside him was starting to make him feel. More than just lust, though that was a given. There was something else there too. Respect, admiration, and even a little caring. He'd prefer not to care about her, but it was already a foregone conclusion. There was no help for it now.  
  
And if he hoped to keep her close to him, in more ways than one, he needed to be careful, and not screw up.  
  
When Willow had slammed through that door earlier and mentioned the slayer, in his sleep befuddled mind he'd wanted nothing more than to jump up and go after her. Then reality hit, and he remembered where he was and who he was with. If he went out and killed the slayer of this time, he could just possibly set off a whole chain of events. Knock down a house of cards.  
  
Couldn't do that. Not if he wanted the chance to go back to a mostly unchanged future.  
  
His own well-being was uppermost in his mind, but thoughts of Willow returning to a future without having ever been born was also constantly there, on the edge of his mind.  
  
"Spike?"  
  
He looked down at the girl who'd come to mean a lot to him. Her back was to him, but somehow, she knew he was awake. He'd probably been sighing a lot or something, he did that when he was frustrated. "Mmm?"  
  
"Thanks for moving me. That floor was killing me."  
  
He shrugged dismissively. "Got tired of listening to you moaning down there is all."  
  
She rolled over and looked up at him, her bright green eyes shining in the moonlight coming through the window. "Still, thanks." Her smile slipped a bit and she bit her lip slightly. "Do you really think I'm prejudiced?"  
  
He nodded in absolute affirmation. "Of course you are. Demons are evil creatures. Bad things. I'd be more surprised if you weren't"  
  
"But, I'm not. The really evil ones, yeah, I kind of hate, and Angelus, I'm not his biggest fan. But I don't hate you, or Phillip, or Oz... well, okay, I don't un-hate him, but that's because he hurt me. And even Anya," she added with a chuckle.  
  
He didn't believe her for one second. There was just no way she couldn't have anything against demons. "Did you trust Angel?" he asked her.  
  
She sat up in confusion. "Yes. I still do."  
  
"Angel turned into Angelus, stalked your best friend, tortured the watcher, killed that teacher."  
  
"Strung up my fish," she said with a humorless smile.  
  
He waved his hand at her as if to say, 'See there?'. "Strung up your fish. Killed how many people? That's gotta make you feel a little a betrayed. And then there's me. I--"  
  
"I don't hate you, Spike. I forgave you a long--"  
  
He went on as if she hadn't spoken. "I kidnapped you a few times, threatened your best friend and your girlfriend, tried to kill you too many times to count. Tore you out of your own time, and forced you to travel with me to different times just so I could get a gander at the woman who left me. Gotta be some hate there." Was there a little bit of guilt in his tone? A little.  
  
She shoved the covers off of herself and knelt on the bed, facing him angrily. "Well, if we follow that vein of thinking, we can't forget about Thomas, the vampire who introduced me to the demon world. Or Moloch the Corruptor, who made me fall in love with him so I could be the demonic robot's bride, and failing that, he tried to do something novel, like kill me. And Phillip, let's toss him in there too, not because he did anything evil, but because he abused my trust, and then we can throw in all the other demons in the known world. How's that?" she asked him, stopping for a much needed breath before continuing in a calmer tone. "Are you done?"  
  
He looked up at the ceiling in consideration, then nodded. "Rounds out rather nicely, yeah."  
  
She nodded curtly and settled back down under the covers. "I forgave you a long time ago, Spike. I don't hate you. Do you really think I'd sleep in the same bed, let alone the same *room* with you if I hated you?"  
  
"I guess not," he said softly, realization washing over him. She was right. If she couldn't stand him, she'd have insisted on separate rooms, and probably gone out of her way to ignore him. She'd done neither, and had actually gone out of her way to make sure he knew that she didn't hate him. And there was that kiss on the cheek. Would she really have kissed him if she didn't like him? Not a chance in hell.  
  
"Good." She nodded almost to herself, and laid back down. "Just so we're straight here."  
  
"We're straight," he assured her, watching as she snuggled down under the covers with a shiver. Well, wasn't that all life affirming, and what not? The witch liked him. Or rather, didn't dislike him. There was a difference. He'd quibble over technicalities later, right now he was just happy to hear that he wasn't as hated as he'd thought.  
  
Crushing his cigarette out on the floor, he laid down next to her, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around her and hold her warm body next to his cold one. As he listened to her breathe, something she'd said came back to him.  
  
"Wait a minute... who's Moloch the Corruptor?"  
  
Instead of answering his question, she rolled back toward him, and asked one of her own. "Is something wrong? With you, I mean."  
  
Deciding not to take offense, he shrugged. Nothing much, he thought to himself, just that Sam and Joe are vampires. Vampires that he couldn't hunt due to a Chewbacca wannabe threatening Willow. Oh, and Dru was officially a vampire now.  
  
Wisely, he kept his mouth shut and settled for a head shake.  
  
Her forehead wrinkled and her brow furrowed in thought... a common look for her. She pushed herself into a sitting position, with a yawn. Instead of continuing with her current line of questioning, she switched to one of her least favorite topics. "How's Drusilla doing?"  
  
It was as if she'd read his mind. Dru had been turned two nights before. She was an insane and insatiable vampire. Different than his lover, and yet, so like her. It was apparent that she needed the extra twenty years to tame somewhat, because right now, she was a live wire, a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at the slightest provocation.  
  
He'd kept Dru's sudden vampire-status to himself for two reasons. One, he wanted to stick around for a bit to make absolutely sure that everything went all right. And two, he was stalling their next journey.  
  
"She's doing," he answered vaguely. "Same as she has been. No change. There's been no change." Yeah, that ought to convince her, you bloody ponce.  
  
She raised an eyebrow at him, looking rather imperious. "Really." That's all she said, but her tone of voice was disbelieving.  
  
Did she know? How could she? She didn't know, there was no way she could've gotten the information from the time she went to bed two hours before, to the time she woke up. "Really." He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and snickered in her ear. "Would I lie to you, love? I--"  
  
"You what?" she scoffed. "You want to admit that you've been lying about Drusilla? You want to tell me that she was turned two nights ago? I just had a very interesting dream, sponsored by the Time Stabilizer, he's the thing that--"  
  
"I know who he is," Spike sighed.  
  
"Oh." She looked like she wanted to ask how, but kept her curiosity to herself for the moment. "Well, he showed me what happened... to her, and told us to move on." She slapped his leg reproachfully and shook her head. "You should be ashamed of yourself."  
  
"Oh, I am," he joked, paying more attention to what she felt like in his arms than to what she was saying. The only time he got to touch her was when she was asleep... and he usually was too, so he couldn't enjoy it. Not that he should be enjoying it. "Very ashamed," he added.  
  
"Spike," she said in a more serious tone, "is it true? Was she turned already?"  
  
Looked like his stalling days were over. "And what if she was? I just wanted to make sure she was gonna be okay and all before we left." He shrugged casually, as if it hadn't hurt him to see her tortured by the dynamic duo bastards. "I guess she's fine though, yeah?" He was trying for a light, jovial mood, but Willow wasn't playing along.  
  
She sat forward, pulling her knees up and resting her head on them. Her eyes turned his way, full of sadness. "I'm sorry. I actually kind of liked human Drusilla... not that I knew her, just ran into her the one time, but... I liked the human Drusilla better than the vampire Drusilla." A small smile graced her lips, forcing one from him as well.  
  
He rolled his eyes, and lit a cigarette. So much for not having any. He'd cut back to less than three a day, at least until he'd run into Willow again. Now he was closer to twenty a day. "Why be sorry? What they did to her is what made her the woman I fell in love with."  
  
"I know, but I'm still sorry." She laid back down with another yawn, bringing the covers up to her chin. "So... when do we leave?" There was a slightly hopeful tone to her voice, but it was mostly hidden beneath the weariness.  
  
There was nothing more he could do. Willow knew as well as he did that Dru had been turned and everything was on track again, so there was no reason not to go. If he was a whiner, he'd be doing some right about now. "Tomorrow night, I guess. Unless you've got a burning need to stay here."  
  
She shook her head slowly. "No. I have no desire to stay here at all. Nothing but bad memories and demons." A small shrug lifted her shoulders.  
  
Yay, they were leaving. His unbeating heart didn't leap with joy. More like... slunk slowly in dread. Well, it would have if it wasn't permanently still. He stubbed out his cigarette butt on the floor, laid back, and stared at the ceiling until dawn. 


	14. Time Stitch 14

Disclaimer: See part 1, 6, or 11.  
  
PART 14  
  
Willow sighed and stretched, letting her happiness flow through her. They were leaving today. Or tonight. Either way, they were one step closer to going back to their own time. She could hardly wait. But, she was feeling rather languid and sleepy and happy and not wanting to get out of bed yet.  
  
Spike was asleep beside her, looking like the most innocent creature in the world. She chuckled to herself, knowing he'd probably kill her if he knew her thoughts. Or at least threaten her a lot. He liked to do that. He couldn't kill her, so he threatened her a lot. Well, not so much lately. She stretched again, closing her eyes with a smile and a moan of pure pleasure, a thank you from her grateful muscles.  
  
Rolling onto her side, she studied her vampire companion. He was gorgeous with a capital 'Gor', not that she'd ever admit that to anyone but maybe herself. She wondered what he'd do if he knew she was ogling him. Probably smirk a lot and pretend to be offended, all the while drinking in the praise. His chest would probably puff out a little too. She giggled, rolling her eyes at herself.  
  
"Definitely not going there with Spike," she whispered to her suddenly way too appraising mind.  
  
They were friends, nothing more. Nor would there be more. If there was, it would end badly. Relationships always ended badly, and she didn't want that. She couldn't lose Spike. Not when they were trapped a hundred and forty years in the past, forced to rely on each other to get back home. Plus, she liked him.  
  
He was smart, and funny, and sweet. Sometimes. Protective, and loyal, and-- she was going to stop this line of thought right now, before she convinced herself of the reasons to *become* involved with Spike rather than convince herself why she shouldn't.  
  
She sighed contentedly again, her eyes flying open in surprise when a hand slid across her stomach. A hand that wasn't hers. Okay, she thought, calming her breathing, no biggie, it was just Spike's hand, and he'd done it many times before. She was just usually asleep when it happened. She bit her lip and reached down to remove his now caressing hand, tossing a quick look at his face to see if he was awake. Nope, no awake-ness there. Just a very asleep, very smiling Spike.  
  
And why was he smiling? she wondered. What dreams were going through his mind?  
  
Not really the point, she told herself, picking up his hand and laying it on the bed beside him. As soon as she dropped his hand, she started to sit up, intending to get out of bed, but Spike rolled over, throwing his arm over her, effectively holding her there. She gasped and went still, waiting for the panic to assail her. When it didn't, she opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling in relief.  
  
It was good to know that her fear was lessening, and that Spike didn't bring out the emotions he used to when they first met up again. She was much more comfortable with his presence now, both in her life and in her bed. Usually. Like when he wasn't wrapped around her, sliding his leg between hers and nibbling on her neck. Ack.  
  
"Spike," she whispered, only it came out as more of a gasp when his hand slid up to her breast and started to caress her. It'd been a while since she'd had any sort of sexual thoughts that didn't involve nausea and blood, but feeling a hand on her breast, caressing it, and a mouth on her neck, she suddenly started to feel a little deprived in the sex department. It'd been a while. A long while. Years even.  
  
She rolled her eyes at herself. No matter how long it'd been, and how much she missed this, she was not going to let Spike feel her up in his sleep. She shoved at his chest and pushed at him, trying to get him off of her, but he wasn't moving. And then he did move, on his own. His hands grabbed her waist, and pulled her with him as he rolled over. Oh sure, now he rolls over, she thought, and takes me with him to land smack dab on top of him.  
  
And, oh, feeling every inch of him. She was pretty sure she knew what he was dreaming about now.  
  
Had it been a long time for him too? Her brow furrowed in thought. Huh, did Spike have a girlfriend? He had to have been sleeping with someone. Vampires were very sexual creatures, surely he hadn't been celibate these past five years. Surely he hadn't always taken care of it himself--  
  
"Shut up," she whispered to herself in disgust. She was lying on top of a man who happened to be very gorgeous, very turned on, and very asleep. Groaning miserably, she took a deep breath and pushed herself up.  
  
"Willow?" he mumbled sleepily.  
  
She went still. Her eyes, the only thing to move, slid to his with something akin to dread. Awkwardness was sure to follow. Ugh. Biting her lip, she stared into his stormy blue eyes. One of her legs was still across him, and in fact, she was straddling his waist, looking like quite the wanton hussy. "Hi?"  
  
That scarred eyebrow of his raised up just the smallest amount, and his lips did the same. His... excitement hadn't lessened the slightest bit, and in fact seemed to have grown more pronounced. "Hi," he chuckled.  
  
His hands, still on her waist, were unmoving except his thumbs. They were tracing small circles on her skin. When had her shirt ridden up that far? "Um, I was just leaving," she told him, pointing to her side of the bed.  
  
He nodded, glancing at the empty spot next to them with a smirk. "Probably would've been easier to get out of bed on that side, rather than climbing over me."  
  
She narrowed her eyes at him. He was amused? She was straddling him, feeling way too many things that she shouldn't be because she was gay, and he wasn't a girl, and he was laughing at her? "Yeah, obviously. Won't make that mistake again." She glanced up at him, raising her own curious eyebrow. "Can I get off now?"  
  
When he burst out laughing, she knew she'd chosen the wrong words to toss at him. Her face burned with embarrassment and she hastily climbed off of him. If she happened to be a little rougher climbing off of him than she needed to be, well, it wasn't her fault, was it? She heard his sharp intake of breath, and smirked to herself. Ha. And there. He was much more turned on than her, and a lot more visibly too, so she had no reason to be embarrassed. He did.  
  
But he wasn't. Was he ever? Once, a long time ago, when they'd been talking about Poe. But about sex, or naked things? Nope.  
  
She sat with her back to him, willing her heart to slow down, and her breathing to return to normal. She wanted to get up, put as much space between them as possible, but all she had on was his T-Shirt, which only went mid-thigh.  
  
She was grateful that this was the first time this had happened in all the time they'd spent in the same bed. Hopefully it would also be the last, because she didn't think she could handle this again. Not without a little follow through. And there would definitely be no follow through.  
  
Tossing a quick look at him over her shoulder, she was surprised to find his eyes on her, his expression one of puzzlement. What on earth was he confused about?  
  
"Willow?" His voice was serious, the amusement from earlier was gone.  
  
She refused to turn to look at him again, settling for keeping her eyes trained on a torn piece of wallpaper across from her. "Yeah?"  
  
"You all right then? Didn't scare you, did I?" He sounded a bit hesitant, like he was afraid she'd confirm that he had indeed scared her, and then run screaming from the room or something.  
  
She shook her head. "You didn't scare me," she assured him.  
  
"Good," he sighed, sounding more distracted than relieved.  
  
"Um, my clothes are over there... by the chair, which is against the door, which is across the room, could you... ya know, turn around?" She heard him scoff lightly, but was very happy when he agreed.  
  
He sat up on his side of the bed, with his back to her. She jumped up quickly, ran across the room, picked up the cold material, and stepped into it with a speed she hadn't known she possessed. Tossing a harried look over her right shoulder she was surprised to see Spike gone. Spinning around, hands on the tiny row of buttons at her chest, she was even more surprised to find him right in front of her.  
  
"God, Spike," she gasped out, holding her dress closed. An annoyed look passed over her face. "Now I'm scared. Happy?"  
  
He shook his head, his eyes darting from her hands, still holding her dress closed, to her face. He sighed, coming no closer than he already was. "No, I'm--" he stopped, shaking his head with a frown. "Ah, bloody hell," he muttered, closing the distance between them. His hands cupped her face, drawing her toward him at the same time as he stepped closer.  
  
She had only a split second to be surprised before his mouth settled hungrily over hers, his lips cold, but quickly warming with contact from hers. She gasped again when he pressed her back against the wall, the length of his body settling comfortably into hers. His hands threaded through her hair, then returned to her face.  
  
And then as suddenly as that, he wasn't there anymore. Her eyes flew open at the sudden loss. Spike was pacing in front of her, looking none too happy. He tossed a few frustrated looks her way.  
  
"It's not easy, you know. Waking up with you wrapped around me every blasted day. Or me wrapped around you." He stopped for a second, pausing to light a cigarette. The Zippo did nothing more than shoot useless sparks, so he snapped it shut, and shoved it into his pocket, tossing the cigarette on the dresser. "Ending up like this," he gestured to himself, "more often than not." A short laugh escaped him as he looked over at her. "And you none the wiser."  
  
Willow blinked at him, at a loss as to where all this was coming from. 'Out of the blue' was not just a phrase at the moment. She'd never seen him like... that. Not that she'd spent any time looking, but still. "I--"  
  
"Yeah, you," he scoffed. "Just because you're no longer into wanting to be touched doesn't mean the rest of the world feels the same." He moved closer, looking very defensive. "I like to be touched." He nodded to himself, then to her. "And you, maybe you're asleep when it happens, but you like to touch."  
  
She didn't deny it. How could she? If she was asleep, she wasn't aware of what she was doing, wasn't aware that she was touching Spike. She touched Spike? Oh, she really hoped she hadn't done any really naughty touching. "Sorry?" she offered, unsure what to say.  
  
"Sorry?" he repeated, turning away from her. "Don't apologize. I don't want apologies." He paced away again and stayed there.  
  
"Then what do you want me to say? I didn't know I was... or that you were... I'm sorry," she said again, buttoning her dress once more.  
  
"I said I didn't want your apologies," he ground out angrily.  
  
She was getting a little angry herself. Finished with the tiny annoying buttons, she dropped her hands, smoothing the poofy skirt into place. "Then what the heck do you want from me?"  
  
Spike tilted his head to the side with a frown, staring at her incredulously. "I don't want anything from you."  
  
"Well that clears everything up, thanks, Spike." She rolled her eyes, moving past him. "We should have these chats more often--"  
  
Spike's hand closed on her wrist, and he yanked her back to him. His eyes bore into hers, his look one of pure sex. He backed her up again, pushing her as far as she could go. Her shoudlers hit the wall, and her eyes widened causing Spike's smile to widen. "Well, maybe there is one thing I want from you," he said softly.  
  
"What--" now she was a little scared... well, no, it wasn't fear, it was nervousness. She was nervous because, hello, Spike was stalking her.  
  
His hands landed on the wall on either side of her head, effectively trapping her there, had she wanted to run away. Too bad the thought hadn't crossed her mind. She was supposed to be saying, 'no', supposed to be pushing him away and explaining to him why this was a bad idea. Really bad. But she wasn't doing that, and it was obvious to her, now, at this moment, that she didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of stopping this. She wasn't as unaffected by Spike's attentions as she'd thought she was. But Spike didn't get that. Any other time, she might deny it, might even try to fight this attraction she had for him, but she couldn't seem to find the words to halt him.  
  
Not today. So she wasn't fighting him. Nor would she.  
  
He inhaled deeply, his amused eyes settling on hers. "Not as unaffected as you'd like me to think, are you?" he drawled.  
  
Instead of answering with her voice, she shook her head.  
  
His eyes narrowed at her confession, but he didn't waste any time talking about it, he finally took action. His mouth once again settled on hers, and she sighed. After a moment's hesitation, she threaded her hands through his hair. So soft, she thought, how could be so soft and silky smooth when he was dead? His hands were on the bodice of her dress, sliding down to cup her breasts for a moment before tearing open the dress she'd just spent the past five minutes buttoning. At that point, she stopped thinking and just felt.  
  
Felt his bare chest against hers, felt his hands on her skin, making it hum, felt his mouth on her breast. She moaned, pushing away from the wall and closer to him. Her hands slid down his back, along his arms and back up, urging him up as well. The need in her eyes matched his, and they tore away from each other, undressing as they made their way to the bed.  
  
She pushed the dress off her shoulders and down her hips, stepping out of the voluminous material as Spike shoved his breeches down. Tenderness and slow loving had no place in this room. The only thing either of them was concerned about was the want and need they both possessed. Urges that needed to be satisfied. And if there happened to be a little bit of feeling mixed in, all the better, but neither one of them were admitting to it.  
  
Spike, standing nude before her, was... well, her speech and reasoning faculties were somewhat lacking at the moment. Plus, he wasn't standing there for long, almost as soon as he stepped out of his breeches, he was moving toward her, all pale skin and hard, lean muscles. She didn't make any move to stop him, or expect any whispered words of love or caring, so it was with some surprise that he stopped and looked his fill.  
  
His grin filled her heart with warm fuzzy feelings, and her stomach with fluttery butterfly feelings. She couldn't help the smile that crept across her face as he pulled her closer for another soul-searing kiss. Or at least toe-curling. He pushed her backward, onto the bed, laughing at her shout of surprise. Her laughter matched his deep chuckling as he tripped over her dress, falling on top of her.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, yuk it up," he told her, kissing her soundly.  
  
She shrugged carelessly, smirking at him. "Nothing yuck here."  
  
Laying half on top of her and half off, he slid one hand down her stomach, causing those same butterflies to start their fluttering again. The hand continued its journey around her hip and down her thigh. She inhaled deeply, enjoying being touched again after so long. Being asleep and unaware of Spike's hands on her didn't lead to much satisfaction. This was much better. Much, much better.  
  
He leaned down, taking her mouth with his again, nipping at her lower lip with his teeth before opening his mouth, sliding his tongue into her mouth. She had this thing about kissing. She loved it. Loved to be kissed, loved to kiss back. Just all around loved kissing. And, she was discovering, she had this thing about Spike too. The combination of two things she loved--really liked a lot--had her arching her back in contentment.  
  
Spike pressed closer to her when she drew her nails lightly against his back. His deep chuckle sent shivers of need and longing through her as he dipped his head to take her nipple into his mouth. Heaven was within reach now. Heaven being that plateau she was striving to reach for the first time in two years. She'd missed this.  
  
And then his hand slid between her legs.  
  
Panic flowed through her at an astonishing rate, due, not to her fear or nervousness, but to losing Spike. Irrational as her thinking was, she knew that if their sex session got too personally involved, she'd lose Spike. Her eyes snapped open, her hand sliding down to his, halting its progress.  
  
He lifted his head from her breasts, his eyes questioning. "What's wrong?" he asked, concern and worry written all over his face. "Am I scaring you? I'm scaring you," he decided, moving his hand to her neck as he started to roll off of her.  
  
She halted him with a hand on his bicep. The muscles jerked under her hand, and she fixed her eyes there, rather than face him. "It's not fear. I just-- I don't..."  
  
He lowered himself onto her fully, supporting his weight on his elbows. "You don't what?" he asked, leaning down to kiss her softly, almost tenderly.  
  
It was too much for her. "Just don't," she whispered miserably.  
  
He kissed her again, mistaking her misery for embarrassment. As he pulled back to look down at her, she caught sight of his reassuring smile and looked away.  
  
She shouldn't have let this happen. It was making things too personal, too involved. She'd wanted this to be a straight forward thing. Scratch an itch, soothe an ache, satisfy an urge. If he touched her... there, it wouldn't be a one time thing. And she definitely wanted this to be a one time thing.  
  
When things got personal, she reiterated in her mind, and relationships started, bad things happened. Angel and Buffy, her and Oz, Xander and Cordelia, Giles and Jenny, Spike and Drusilla. Buffy and Parker, her and Xander. She repeated the names like a mantra. Every single one of those relationships had ended. She didn't want to lose Spike, and if she let it become personal, that's exactly what would happen.  
  
And now all she wanted was for this to end. End with them still friends.  
  
She slid her arms around to his back again, holding him closer, holding him so that he couldn't run from her. Not yet. Lifting her head from the mattress, she took his mouth with hers, playing the wanton. "Now, Spike. I need you now."  
  
He frowned slightly, but didn't stop to question her. Instead of rushing further into things though, he watched her face as he slid his hand back down her abdomen. She barely kept herself from screaming at him to stop when his thumb played over the scar there; once, twice, and then his hand halted completely. He started to sit up, pull away from her, but she didn't want that.  
  
She wanted Spike.  
  
Holding him still with her hands on his shoulder blades, she whispered, "Don't stop." Shame flooded through her at being reduced to begging. She kissed him again, desperately, then let her head drop back to the pillow. She didn't want to look, but she couldn't seem to stop her eyes from turning his way when he leaned down and kissed the scar. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes showing just the briefest hint of guilt before it was gone.  
  
He was angry and feeling guilty, but she knew that he wanted her--no, this--he wanted *this* as much as she did. She had unwittingly turned him on sometime during the day, and now he was using her to slake his lust. And it was the same for her.  
  
If she continued to tell herself that, she just might start to believe it.  
  
He moved back over her, holding himself up by his arms, and stared at her. Just stared at her. She kept her own eyes on the ceiling above her, waiting for him to slide inside of her, to finish what they'd started. To give her the release she so desperately craved. When he only held himself there, she lowered her eyes to his, sucking in a breath as he thrust inside of her, filling her to the point of near-pain.  
  
She groaned when he shifted slightly, closed her eyes as he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her softly. When he didn't immediately start to move, she bit her lip to keep from telling him to hurry up. Pleasure was overwhelming her and forcing all sorts of feelings to course through her, and she was afraid she'd say something she didn't want to. The pleasure, however, was quickly evaporating under his tense posture, and she just knew his eyes were equally as intense.  
  
"Look at me," he told her, cupping her face with his callused hands.  
  
She frowned, but opened her eyes, staring up the ceiling, avoiding looking at Spike, or his body. Too personal, she wanted to say, this is too personal, but she kept her mouth tightly closed, and swallowed back the words.  
  
"Willow, look at me," he ground out, not so much in restrained desire, but in anger.  
  
Her eyes flickered to his quickly before settling somewhere on his lips, rather than his eyes. Was he going to roll off of her and leave? Could he do that?  
  
Whether he could or not, she didn't know, but he didn't, and she was grateful for that. He leaned down, kissing her softly, then more demandingly, forcing a response from her. "At least *pretend* it means something to you," he said harshly.  
  
Her eyes widened, flying to his. "It does... you do. I--"  
  
His furious gaze halted the flow of protestations on her tongue. "Save it." He looked away from her, preferring the pillow underneath her head to her face.  
  
His body tensed on hers, and she was sure he was about to leave her, but he started to move instead. Move inside of her, around her, all without looking at her. There was no tenderness, no gentleness, nothing to say. They were nothing more than two people having a meaningless sexual encounter. Willow felt tears burning behind her eyelids, and let them drift shut.  
  
He didn't hurt her, he wasn't rough with her, but he also didn't go out of his way to touch her anymore. His mouth never settled on hers again as he thrust inside of her. She felt each thrust, felt him deep inside, heightening her pleasure with each stroke. She kept her hands to herself, balling the sheet under her in her fists rather than hold him to her. Wanting this over as quickly as possible was now uppermost on her mind, second to that was release.  
  
Tension needed to be relieved, for both of them, and then they could go about their lives again. Pretend this never happened.   
Soon, she stopped worrying and went back to feeling. Just feeling, allowing the smell of Spike's skin to fill her senses; that enticing aroma of Spike and tobacco and something earthy that always hung around him. The taste of him, still on her lips, was salty and altogether too arousing. His flesh, the muscles rippling under the skin, gave her eyes something to focus on. And him, inside of her, well, that was the most tremendous feeling of all. The fullness of his flesh filling her, the friction he was creating with every thrust, all of it leading to an ultimate pinnacle that she anticipated with every taut nerve ending in her body.  
  
After two years of abstinence, and emotions riding high, and, well frankly, being turned on to the point of insanity, she was ready.  
  
He was too, she knew. She'd both seen and felt the proof of that before he'd even woken up. Now here they were ten, fifteen minutes later, he had to be way more than ready.  
  
Unable to keep completely distant from him, she wrapped one of her legs around his, sliding it up to secure her ankle around his waist. Her other leg joined the first, and she locked them together.  
  
At that small gesture, Spike seemed to lose his tight control. He buried his face into her neck, sucking her flesh into his mouth, sliding deeper inside her with a groan, then right back out again. They kissed, thrust, arched, and caressed each other into a frenzy. No tenderness, no sweet words, no mention of love. When she came, she gasped his name. When he came, his whole body went still, his mouth continuing to move on her neck.  
  
In fact, as he gave her one heck of a hickey, she began to relax. The combination of unbelievable sex and sudden release coupled with the sucking feeling on her neck caused her to drift off to sleep.  
  
  
  
Spike's eyes slid over Willow as she slept, enjoying the sight of her completely naked body which was practically aglow with satisfaction. She rolled over with a sigh, and a smile on her lips and he had to wonder what she was dreaming about. If it was anything like his dream before he'd woken up to find Willow on top of him, then it was entirely possible there'd be a repeat performance soon. It was only fair that he star in her dreams when she played such a pivotal role in his.  
  
Well, no, that wasn't going to happen again. She didn't want him touching her anymore. So he'd keep his distance.  
  
A furious scowl turned down his mouth when he remembered her reaction to him touching her. Not fear, not embarrassment, but something altogether different. He still wasn't sure what it was. All he did know was that she hadn't wanted him to touch her. Didn't want to look at him, and didn't want his hands on her. Did that mean that she'd been thinking of someone else, like Tara, and his male hands had ruined the fantasy?  
  
A lock of her hair fell over her face and Spike had to resist the urge to brush it away. But it was hard with her moaning and stretching. The sheets slid further from her body, lower than they already were, which was down on her thighs.  
  
Spike grabbed the edge and pulled it up, covering her. The sheet settled over her like a second skin, not obscuring a whole lot from his appreciative gaze. He was glad he could watch her unobserved for a while because he knew, like he knew his own name, that as soon as she woke up there'd be nervousness and awkwardness. Why shouldn't there be? He'd prefer there not to be, but he wasn't a nitwit. He'd hope for at least a small reprieve, but he wasn't going to hold his breath.  
  
He sighed and settled down beside her wondering why she couldn't just let things happen. Couldn't just accept that they'd had sex and leave it at that. Why should she regret it? He was a good lover, and he'd made sure she was taken care of before him. His own control amazed him, especially since, at the time, all he'd wanted to do was finish and get away from her. But he hadn't done that to her. Hadn't vamped out, hadn't tried to feed from her either.  
  
She stretched again, rolling over into him. He hesitated for a second before settling his arm around her waist. Her lips pressed against his chest as she mumbled something and he had to strain to hear the words. He held still, forcing himself not to go off on her when she said the blonde witch's name, but she didn't. Not this time.  
  
"...for you, Spike."  
  
He waited for more, but that was all there was. Well that was informative, cleared things right up. Nevertheless, he was smiling again. She was dreaming about him, and she seemed real happy about something.  
  
He started to drift off to sleep himself when she suddenly pushed him away from her, shoving desperately at him, getting tangled in the bed sheets. A few deep shuddering breaths escaped her as he tried to shake her awake. Her heart was racing, and fear was rolling off of her, battering against him, forcing him to take a few deep breaths of his own.  
  
"No, get off. Don't-- please..." she yelled, struggling against his grip on her shoulders. She went limp a few seconds later, and rolled away from him, curling in on herself. "Spike, help me," she whispered, her terrified voice sending guilt through him like the blood in his veins could no longer do.  
  
He shook her harder, wanting to rid himself of the sound of her whispered words still ringing through his head. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked around them frantically before dropping back to the bed with a groan.  
  
Spike looked down at her silently for a minute before rolling over to go to sleep.  
  
Willow sighed, watching his stiff back. Things were going to be bad between them now, she just knew it. And to top it off, she was having the nightmares again. As if things weren't complicated enough.  
  
Something had been different with this nightmare though. She'd been having them since the attack in the warehouse, but this time Spike had been there too. She frowned, remembering Spike and nakedness and lust-filled glances.  
  
Well, no, that was real, they'd really had sex, the part with Spike turning into the guy from the warehouse and feasting on her intestines... that was the nightmare. But not quite the same one as usual.  
  
In the previous dreams, Spike hadn't been there trying to seduce her, he'd been nearby watching. Always watching, never helping. In this nightmare, Spike had tried to seduce her. Due to their recent activities, obviously her mind had decided to embellish his role to that of a lover.  
  
Turning her head to him with a sigh, she wished things were different. Well, they actually were different now. What she wanted though, was for them to be back in Sunnydale, and away from each other so there was no chance of being tempted. As she got up and dressed, she wondered if he was still tempted, or if, now that he'd slaked his immediate lust, he didn't want her anymore. 


	15. Time Stitch 15

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing here except the plot. The characters and all things Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Twentieth Century, the Pope, and whoever else wants to claim them and actually receives royalties from them. That's not me, so... there ya go.  
PAIRING: W/S  
RATING: R (15/?)  
SUMMARY: Spike uses Willow to go back in time to avoid being implanted by the Initiative... has even one of Spike's plans ever gone right? They end up a little further back in time than he intended.  
DEDICATED: To my beta, Claudia! She rules. Helped me work through a ton of stuff, caught things I'd read a hundred times and never noticed, and did the best thing of all; the easiest thing in the world to get a writer to write... she begged for more.  
  
PART 15  
  
Willow quietly closed the door behind her and crept down the stairs, stopping each time they creaked. Spike was asleep. At least she thought he was, it was hard to tell with him sometimes. If he was, she wanted him to stay that way. She had supplies to buy and if she allowed herself to think it, she just really wanted to get out of their room, to get away from him and the deafening silence that had fallen hours before.  
  
Things were just too complicated between them now. She'd screwed up by allowing herself to find comfort in him. By taking that comfort with every greedy ounce of her soul.  
  
She hadn't gotten a whole lot of sleep since her nightmare, only a few hours here and there, broken by points of awkwardness when she awoke to find herself wrapped around Spike. Extricating herself slowly and quietly wasn't as easy as she'd tried to make it. She was sure he was awake and completely aware of her moving away from him. One time she'd even caught him watching her, his face blank, his eyes hard and cold.  
  
Yeah, things between them were definitely weird now. That was the whole reason she'd wanted to keep it from getting too personal. But she'd failed.  
  
The satisfaction and no-longer-tense muscles in her body were good side effects of their encounter, but that was a thought best left for another time. Perhaps late one night when she was unable to sleep.  
  
She tried to creep by the open door of the parlor, not wanting a run-in with Mrs. Pressman, but, as usual, the old woman was there, listening and watching as everyone passed by. The chill that swept over Willow every time she was near the old woman made its way down her spine not bothering to stop when she pulled her shawl tighter around her.  
  
"Mrs. Giles," the old lady called out imperiously.  
  
Willow, having no other alternative, straightened her shoulders, and glided into the dark room, hiding her distaste of the plum colors dominating the room. Her sneakered shoes were silent on the wooden floor, even more so on when she stepped on one of the numerous oriental rugs. Stopping in front of the desk where Mrs. Pressman was seated, she folded her hands in front of her, and smiled politely. "Yes?"  
  
A wrinkled hand lifted, holding a folded piece of paper out to her. "This was left for you. An invitation it seems." A false smile lit her mouth, the only kind Mrs. Pressman had ever shown, Willow was sure. Her gray hair, stretched tightly back into a bun, seemed to move with her mouth, loosening the slightest bit.  
  
Suppressing a nervous giggle, Willow reached out to take the paper, curiosity burning in her. No one knew she was here, except the people--demons--that lived here, and she was pretty sure none of them would invite her to anything.  
  
Mrs. Pressman didn't extend her hand any further than an inch, making Willow reach for it. When her fingers closed over it, she yanked it rudely out of Mrs. Pressman's hand, turned away, and left the room.  
  
She heard quiet cackling behind her, but ignored the old biddy.  
  
Unfolding the thick, rough paper, she read the flowing black script with confusion. Who was Lady Winchester, and why was she inviting Willow... make that Mrs. Giles, to tea? So not gonna happen. There was no way she could go anywhere, she had to get supplies to do the spell, and pack their stuff. And then they would no longer be in this time. Ah, darn, she thought sarcastically, what a bummer.  
  
As she headed toward the front door, she heard slow, steady footsteps on the wood floor behind her. She turned to find Mrs. Pressman standing in the doorway, studying her.  
  
"You are planning on attending, are you not?" One of her thin gray eyebrows soared nearly into her hairline.  
  
Willow, more than ready to get the hell out of Dodge--meaning Mrs. Pressman's boarding house--merely shook her head. "I don't think so. I mean, I don't even know this Lady Winchester." She shrugged and headed for the door again, wanting to get away from the creepy woman.  
  
Mrs. Pressman cleared her throat, clearly waiting for Willow to stop and turn around. Willow didn't want to do it, but she couldn't help herself. She stopped and turned. Damn it.  
  
Her brown eyes pinned Willow in place, forcing another shiver from the younger woman. "Lady Winchester is the Slayer. If she has contacted you, then she must have a good reason." Her lips once again turned up slightly. "Or a good friend." And with that, Mrs. Pressman left Willow alone, her heeled shoes echoing loudly in the open space.  
  
Willow hardly noticed her departure, she was stuck on the woman's last words. She knew only two demons in London that she cared anything about. And one of them was upstairs, asleep. She closed her eyes for a second, hating her life, before running upstairs and banging on Phillip's door. As she'd feared would happen, it stayed closed. Crap. Now what?  
  
Get dressed in her jeans, hire a hansom cab, sneak into the Slayer's house and rescue Phillip? Yeah, right.  
  
______________________________________________  
  
Okay, so she wasn't sneaking into the house, she was ringing the bell. And she wasn't dressed in jeans, she was in her one and only tea gown. Dressing up wasn't her idea of a fun time, but since Spike had ripped open her only other clean gown... it was this or half-nakedness.  
  
The tea gown was one that Samantha had insisted she buy, and Willow had given in after numerous attempts to explain why she didn't need one. Closing her eyes, she forced the pain away, and focused on the here and now. The possible death awaiting her... here and now.  
  
After a few minutes of waiting, and no answer, she stood back, looking up at the windows above her. She saw someone move as a curtain dropped back into place. She was being watched by... something. With new purpose, she strode forward and banged on the door.  
  
"Hello?" she called loudly. A carriage barreled down the street, drowning out her voice. She turned to glare at the noisy vehicle as it passed, and didn't see the door open. Suddenly her arm was grabbed, and she was pulled inside the house.  
  
Willow screamed, clawing at the hand holding her arm, and yanked herself backward. Her head smacked on the doorjamb, stopping her struggles and basically all bodily movement. Pain lanced through her head, then numbness. As she sagged to the ground, her eyes focused on the figure standing over her. The interior of the house was so dark that all she was able to make out was a silhouette before she drifted into unconsciousness.  
  
__________________________________________________  
  
Pain throbbed behind Willow's eyes as she tried to focus on one single thing around her, to figure out where she was. Blinding lights and pain shot through her head, traveling to the rest of her body when she squinted at the shape in front of her. It moved a little, so she was sure it was alive. Or maybe she was the one doing the moving.  
  
Her head pounded erratically with-- no, that wasn't her head. It was hammering, distant hammering keeping time with the pain in her head.  
  
"Ow," she moaned, holding herself still. Why was it that she always seemed to end up unconscious and tied-- oh, oh! She was tied up somewhere again? Moving her hands minutely, she confirmed her suspicions. There were definite bondage things happening here. Angelus?  
  
No, she was at the Slayer's house. Laura had tied her up? And was now hammering things?  
  
Listening for sounds to tell her where she was seemed safer than thinking for the moment, because her head was still raging and nausea was roiling in her stomach. She heard voices outside the room--they were too far away to be inside--and what sounded like humming. That was closer though. In fact... she opened her eyes cautiously and turned her head just enough to be able to see the dark-haired vampire sitting on the floor watching her.  
  
Drusilla grinned sweetly at her, her huge brown eyes taking in everything with excitement and anticipation. Willow closed her eyes against the sight of Spike's future lover, looking much like she must've the night Spike climbed out of the grave.  
  
Well, here now was confirmation, wasn't it? She was deeply stupid for listening to Mrs. Pressman, and even more stupid for not waking Spike up to tell him where she was going. No, 'cause then he might've talked you out of going alone, or at all. Then you might be safe, you dummy.  
  
"I remember you," Drusilla whispered from her right side. "You're a witch." Willow felt hands on the back of the chair she was tied to, and then Drusilla's voice was whispering in her left ear. "Daddy's afraid of you, but he doesn't know."  
  
Willow opened her eyes to find Drusilla right in front of her, leaning forward as if imparting a secret, her lips turned up in a secretive smile. "Doesn't know--" Willow whispered through dry, cracked lips. She swallowed and tried again, finding her voice slightly louder. "Doesn't know what?"  
  
And again there was that secret smile and a playful look. "I'll not tell." She held a single finger to her lips. "You're not to know yet."  
  
Oh, and once again her conversation with Drusilla was clearing things up, only in a way that was not. Sure she'd figure out what Drusilla meant someday, probably in a hundred years or so, if she lived that long, but what about now? What good were the supposed powers for, if not to warn someone, or give information when needed? Looking back one day in the future and going, 'Oh! That's what she meant when she said such and such...' didn't help at all.  
  
"Angelus is here?" Straining her ears to hear the voices she'd picked up earlier, she almost missed Drusilla's giggled answer.  
  
"No. Daddy has a new friend to play with."  
  
"New friend..." Willow repeated, her mind racing. Angelus and Darla were up to something. Obviously, otherwise why bring her here?  
  
Spike! She was bait. She hated being bait, dang it.  
  
"Dru," she implored, dipping her head to catch Dru's eyes. Her hair fell forward, obscuring her view. She shook her head back and the strands fell behind her shoulder. Drusilla looked back at her, unconcerned, her eyes glazed over. "Um, Drusilla, listen. Angelus, um your daddy, is doing something he really can't do. He's going to kill my friend. Your friend in the future, you--"  
  
"Hush now," Dru whispered, pressing her fingers against Willow's lips again. "Daddy promised he wouldn't kill him." Her smile turned evil, her eyes glowing with maniacal glee. "He's only going to teach him a lesson."  
  
Angelus' lessons would probably make Spike wish he were dead. She had to get out of there. Now. Closing her eyes she forced herself to concentrate her magick on getting free. It'd worked when she was tied up the last time. Hopefully this time would go as well.  
  
Dru circled around her, dancing in circles as she mimicked whispering voices. "Psst, psst, psst, psst."  
  
"Hecate," Willow whispered, fighting the panic for Spike coursing through her, "release me!" She wasn't too shocked when the ropes around her loosened and dropped away, but she was a bit surprised that that's all it'd taken.  
  
Her spells used to require quite a bit of pleading and desperation. This was a bit easy, maybe even too easy. Then again, practice makes perfect... not that she was perfect. Far from it, in fact, but at least she was heading in the right direction.  
  
"Oh. Uh, thanks," she mumbled, opening her eyes.  
  
Question now was: Could she really get by Dru and out of the house without being killed? Probably not.  
  
"Run and catch..." Drusilla sang, spinning in a circle to the door. "Run and catch." She spun around and faced Willow as she stood up from the chair. Her smile, still firmly in place, and still completely laced with evil intentions, slid even further up her face. "You'll not catch them, lovey..." she looked down almost shyly, then back up again, her face vamped out. "But I'll catch you."  
  
Willow shot forward, hoping to get past Drusilla and out into the hall where she'd be better off. Or hoped to be anyway. Chances were, she'd be worse off with the vampires out there. They had no compunctions about killing her, they didn't know she was supposed to stay alive. Did Drusilla? She'd warned Angelus and Darla, but would she herself have enough restraint to hold back when the bloodlust hit her?  
  
Darting out of Drusilla's grasp, Willow dodged away, further back into the room. Pacing backwards, toward the chair, she considered staking Drusilla and ending it all right then and there, but she couldn't. Spike wouldn't live if she did that. Dru needed to live, and so did Spike.  
  
She needed Spike to live.  
  
"Okay, Dru... see, you can't eat me," she told the other woman, wincing when she saw her lick the corner of her lips. "I'm from the future. You'll ruin things there." She shrugged, hoping Dru would buy the story.  
  
Her demonic grin slipped a little and she looked like a kid who'd had her favorite toy taken away. "But I wanted to play," she said sadly, un-vamping. Her head tilted to the side, her eyes taking in Willow's clutched hands and frightened eyes. "You are from the future," she agreed, but then her smile returned and her eyes cleared. "But your time has already gone by. If I kill you, nothing changes." She leaned closer, her eyes sliding past Willow as if she was listening to someone or something that wasn't there. "A little birdy told me," she confided secretly.  
  
Willow watched fearfully as Drusilla vamped out again and darted froward, jumping at her. Her thin hands circled around Willow's wrists, dragging her closer to her, spinning her around so her back was against the vampire's. "You don't want to do this," Willow told her, pulling desperately at the hands wrapped around her, scraping her nails along Dru's wrists and forearms. "I don't taste very good."  
  
"We'll see about that," Drusilla muttered, snarling as she drew her mouth closer to Willow's neck. "Give us a taste, pet."  
  
She struggled frantically, kicking out, doing everything she could to stop the fangs about to pierce her flesh, but nothing was working. "Spi-- William's not going to like this," she threatened, hoping Drusilla knew what she was talking about without actually knowing. Maybe the little birdy had something to say about that.  
  
Pain ripped into her neck, piercing the tender flesh. Sharp, slicing knives scissored into her, forcing a scream from her lips.  
  
Fury and rage bubbled up inside her, forcing its way to the surface. She could feel the magick simmering around inside her, whispering to her to use it. To taste the true power that comes with vengeance. To hurl Drusilla across the room and shove a stake into her dead heart.  
  
She didn't listen. Not completely. Reaching her hands around behind her as the vampire drank deeply from her, she touched Drusilla's skirts and sent a jolt of energy surging through her hands. Drusilla screamed and reared back with a force and speed that was terrifying, sending tiny shockwaves of pain soaring through Willow's abused body. Her hands no longer clamped around Willow's arms.  
  
She was free. Spinning around to face Drusilla, she had the urge to send another jolt of magick at her, but she was also afraid Drusilla was dead. That lasted for only a second of course, since Drusilla wasn't a pile of ash.  
  
Weakness flooded through her and her knees went out from under her. She sagged limply to the floor. The burst of magick she'd used had drained her a little. She felt empty. No, that wasn't right. She felt emptier. Her magick wasn't completely gone, just diminished.  
  
The door opened, startling her and Drusilla who was just coming to.  
  
"Dru, Dru, Dru," Angelus scolded from the doorway. "You let a little slip of a girl like... that," he said derisively, "get the better of you?" He shook his head from side to side in mock shame. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. I expected much better from you."  
  
"Angelus," Drusilla whispered, licking the blood dripping down her lip. She climbed gracefully to her feet, turning to face the doorway.  
  
Willow groaned, sliding her hand up to her neck, stemming the slowly flowing blood still escaping. Nausea roiled in her stomach, and she started to gag.  
  
"Hey," Angelus called loudly, no longer amused as he strode further into the room, his boots clomping on the wooden floor. "Don't mess the floor up." He waited until she stopped gagging and turned baleful eyes his way before leaning down and whispering, "Red." He stood back up, grinning ferally.  
  
She closed her eyes as Darla sauntered in behind Angelus, her hand sliding possessively up his back as she approached. The small superior smile she always seemed to wear, was there, curling up the corners of her lips and lighting her eyes with malevolence. "Oh, look," she commented, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at Willow, "she's already in the right position."  
  
Willow fought the cold fear trying to run through her veins, knowing it would only make the vampires more excited. More amused with her predicament. Turning an equally unimpressed eye to Darla, Willow looked her up and down, her lips turning up in a smug smile. "Oh, I see," she chided, "you're just not getting the job done yourself, are you?"  
  
Angelus laughed, his amused eyes running over her from head to toe as he held Darla back. "Well now, lass, aren't you just full of piss and vinegar?" he drawled, his accent growing thicker. He tilted his head to the side, and then turned around and left the room. The echo of his boots receded with the three vampires.  
  
Drusilla turned around to hiss at her before she left, holding out two fingers in a hook-like gesture, and then she was gone with the rest of them and the only sounds left were the slamming of the door.  
  
No locks turned, but with vampire guards, they didn't need them.  
  
Shivering in the sudden emptiness of the cold room, she hugged her knees to her, looking around her for a way out. The room was empty but for her former seat and the ropes on the floor. There was one door, guarded, and one boarded-up window.  
  
Turning to face the back wall, she crossed her feet at the ankles and held her hands out to the nailed boards across the window. She tried to think of a specific spell she could use on the boards, but came up empty. Well, okay, she could pray with the best of them.  
  
"Hecate, or Diana, really any Goddess out there, um, could you please help me out here? I-- I don't have any offerings, or a spell really, but free the window, and uh," she thought frantically trying to come up with something a Goddess might like, but her mind was empty. Frustrated with herself, she realized that she was thinking like a victim, not a survivor. Since meeting up again with Spike, she'd seriously neglected her studies, falling back on old habits, allowing him to protect her rather than her own powers and strengths.  
  
She should know better than that. This incident proved to her once again that she had only herself to rely on. "Well, okay," she began again, "I'll set up a plate of offerings that'll make your mouth water. If you have a mouth-- which is not really the point. So, free the window, and, um, a ladder wouldn't be turned down." Swallowing past the dryness in her throat, she opened her eyes, hoping to see the boards drop to the floor and feel warm sunshine flooding over her cold body.  
  
But the boards were still firmly in place.  
  
Fine, if the Powers That Be didn't want to help her, she'd have to help herself. Standing a little shakily, she strode over to the window, sliding her fingers under the boards.  
  
_____________________________________________  
  
Spike paced the room restlessly, tossing a glance at the door every few minutes. It was well past dark and still there was no sign of Willow. Where the hell was she?  
  
Hearing a lock turn next door, he strode to his own door and yanked it open. Phillip was there, in the hall, about to go inside his room. He turned his head in Spike's direction then looked away briefly, shaking his head.  
  
"William," he greeted, his tone just derisive enough to irk Spike.  
  
"Where's Willow?" Spike asked, glaring at him across the twenty foot distance. Phillip was his last chance at finding her safe. If he didn't know where she was, then something had happened. Chewbacca? Or Angelus? Clenching his fists, he vamped out, crossing to Phillip. "Where's my wife?"  
  
"You lost Willow?" he asked, stopping midway into his room to turn to Spike. His eyes stayed fast on Spike's face, his mouth tightening in anger.  
  
The concern in his voice grated against Spike's nerves. He had no right to be concerned about Willow. She was his phony wife, not Phillip's.  
  
"Do you know where she is?" Spike snarled, grabbing fistfuls of Phillip's frilly white shirt. "Start talking or I'll start tearing your bits off."  
  
Phillip pushed his hands between Spike's arms and pried himself free, snarling right back at Spike. His eyes went red, and his face started to shimmer. "Never touch me, vampire. I'll kill you, even against Willow's wishes." The shape of his head began to move and reform, the air around them hummed. Phillip closed his eyes and then everything shifted again, snapping back into place. When his eyes opened again, they were human. "I haven't seen her since last night." He shoved his door open and went inside, slamming the door shut. The wood shook in its frame, rattling the doorknob.  
  
Spike slammed his fist down on the wooden railing, spinning back around to his room. Grabbing his frock coat from the chair inside, he left, shutting the door behind him. Halfway down the stairs, he felt Mrs. Pressman watching him and turned to see her standing in the doorway of the drawing room.  
  
Ignoring her beady eyes following him through the foyer, he stomped to the door. As his hand closed around it, she spoke, her words surprising him.  
  
"Your wife is with the Slayer."  
  
Spike dropped his hand, took a single breath in, and turned to face the old lady. "The Slayer has her?" he ground out, striding across the foyer toward her. "Where is she?"  
  
Mrs. Pressman held out a thin, folded piece of paper, shaking her head regally. "The Slayer does not... have her. She was invited, and your wife willingly chose to go."  
  
Willow went to see the Slayer? What the hell for? They were supposed to be leaving tonight, right now. Suspicious that this had something to do with their earlier activities, he swallowed back a groan. Bloody hell! Couldn't she wait until they left to freak out?  
  
Opening the folded sheet of paper, he read the flowing black script with a frown.  
  
'Mrs. Giles,' it read, 'I would be happy to take care of your husband for you. Please meet me at my home.' It was signed, Laura.  
  
Not believing it for a minute, Spike crumpled the note up and left the house, shoving the paper into his coat pocket. Willow hadn't gone to the Slayer about him, no matter how bad things now were between them. And really, this morning had been more good than bad. That meant someone wanted him to think she had.  
  
The Slayer, or Angelus? Chewbacca couldn't be ruled out either. The address on the card was the Slayer's, but it could be from anyone. Bloody hell, why were their time travel adventures always so complicated?  
  
It could be a trap set by the Slayer to catch him. It could be Angelus. Chewbacca was in there somewhere too, Spike just wasn't sure where.  
  
The address on the card was the only clue he had, so that's where he was going. If nothing else, he could ask for help from the bint.  
  
As he waited impatiently for a carriage to pass by, he heard the front door slam, and turned to see Phillip striding purposefully down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.  
  
"Oh, who's the manly man?" he snickered to himself. "The big bad half demon is going searching for the damsel in distress." Rolling his eyes at the boy, he dashed across the street, dodging another carriage as it barreled past, then took off at a run.  
  
_____________________________________________  
  
Willow uncrossed her legs and pushed herself to her feet. The room was cold, with no fire to warm her. And no central heating, of course. Blowing on her hands to keep them warm, she jumped in place a few times, thanking whatever foresight she'd had to put on her tennies today.  
  
Running quickly away might be something she needed to do and she was ready for it.  
  
Hopefully it wouldn't come to that. Angelus and Darla knew they couldn't... well, no that wasn't true. They could hurt her as much as they wanted to, even kill her as long as the Time Stabilizer thingie didn't stop them.  
  
The real question was: Did they fear it enough to keep from killing her? Oh, she really hoped so.  
  
Why wasn't the stupid Time Geek here now, helping her escape? It wanted her and Spike to continue on to eighteen-eighty, so why wasn't it here preventing bad things from happening to her? And bad things would certainly be happening, she had no doubt of that. Angelus was one mean SOB, and with Darla and Drusilla backing him up? He was as close to the devil as she ever hoped to get.  
  
Darkness had fallen hours ago and with it the heat. She could see her breath puff into the air every time she exhaled. Her arms, bare in the sleeveless gown, felt like icicles. Curling her fingers up to keep them from becoming too stiff, she hopped up and down a couple more times, getting her blood circulating.  
  
Her sore and bloody fingers screamed quietly in protest as they bent and straightened. Finally taking pity on them, she slipped them under her arms, hugging herself for warmth as she moved toward the window.  
  
A single crack on the side of the boards, a hard won victory she'd achieved while the sun was setting, let in a slice of moonlight and more cold air.  
  
The pounding had ceased an hour ago leaving her to wonder what it was they'd been doing. Boarding up all the windows?  
  
Loud growling and snarling sounded outside her room, followed by laughter and shouting. A woman yelled, startling Willow. She turned toward the door in annoyance.  
  
Most of the vampires had left just after the sun went down, but she knew Angelus and his bimbos were still around. She could just feel it.  
  
She paced across the room, her tennis shoes mostly noiseless on the wooden floor, only sending up the occasional creak from a loose floorboard. She darted a glance toward the door, knowing he was out there somewhere, knowing he wanted her to sweat, well, figuratively.  
  
"Too bloody cold in here to sweat for real," she yelled at the door, forgetting she wanted to remain under their radar and not draw their attention.  
  
No one came, which only made her more nervous. He wanted her to grow panicked, to freak out and beg him to release her. He was the type that got off on begging.  
  
Her skirts swirled about her ankles as she turned on her heel, pacing back the way she'd come, muttering to herself. On the edge of her mind, way in the back, was Darla's comment about her being in the right position. She refused to think about it, because that way lay panic and fear, sprinkled with unease. Things better left not thought about.  
  
Being on her knees brought too many bad thoughts to mind. Things she couldn't and wouldn't think about. Things she couldn't stop thinking about. Ever. Images of a dark blond vampire grinning at her came to mind, but she shook it away, closing her eyes with a groan. Now was not the time to think about that.  
  
Another image sprang to mind: This one of a snarling vampire tied with old rags, bruised and bleeding, cussing at her with every ounce of fury in him. She pressed her fingers against her eyes, hoping to erase the images, to put out of her mind the things he'd done to her, the things she'd done to him, but they just kept coming.  
  
"Stop it," she muttered, kicking at the wall in front of her. A sigh escaped her and she sank down to the floor. This wasn't like that night. This night would be different. She wouldn't-- she wouldn't do those things again. Angelus couldn't die. A tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered words of pain and torture. Stuff that wouldn't kill a vampire, but would definitely make him think twice about attacking her again.  
  
She shoved the thoughts away, not liking the part of her that wanted Angelus to suffer for everything he'd done to her. Everything he'd done to her friends. To Jenny.  
  
Jenny was dead, so she couldn't exact her own revenge. She was safe from the dark thoughts swirling around in Willow's mind.  
  
Willow wasn't safe. She was in a house of vampires and possibly a dead slayer.  
  
She dropped her head back against the wall, trying to halt the memories of that night.  
  
Tiredness crept over her after a while, from the head injury and the loss of blood. She curled up on the floor, falling asleep as the memories flowed through her. 


	16. Time Stitch 16

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing here except the plot. The characters and all things Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Twentieth Century, the Pope, and whoever else wants to claim them and actually receives royalties from them. That's not me, so... there ya go.  
  
PAIRING: W/S  
  
RATING: Strong R (16/?)  
  
SUMMARY: Spike uses Willow to go back in time to avoid being implanted by the Initiative... has even one of Spike's plans ever gone right? They end up a little further back in time than he intended.  
  
DEDICATED: To my beta, Claudia! She rules. Helped me work through a ton of stuff, caught things I'd read a hundred times and never noticed, and did the best thing of all; the easiest thing in the world to get a writer to write... she begged for more.  
  
A/N: This section deals with Willow's memories of what happened to her the year before, when she was raped, so if that bothers you, don't read this part, because it is kind of dark.  
  
PART 16  
  
Willow's memories were flitting through her mind, flowing into her dreams. Memories of walking alone at night, whistling quietly to herself, trying to make the darkness seem less foreboding. It'd worked, the small sound flowed through the air, mingling with other, less scary sounds, like insects, and a cat. Dogs barked in the distance as she approached the last row of warehouses she'd be checking that night.  
  
She walked right up to the door which was hanging crooked on its hinges. Weeds grew up around the dirt beside the building, reminding her of every other warehouse she'd checked since arriving in London.  
  
Every warehouse she'd been to in Sunnydale, including the two Spike had dragged her to.  
  
Clutching her stake tightly in her hand, feeling the reassuring weight of the wood she'd carved herself, she reached out and turned the doorknob, pushing the door open quietly. It squeaked open, making her cringe as the noise pierced the night, alerting everything within a mile of her location that there was a fresh young thing doing something really stupid.  
  
"Get a grip," she whispered to herself, trying to stem the panic and fear nipping at her insides. All the other places had felt empty, this one, for some reason, didn't. There'd been vampires and a few demons in the other warehouses she'd checked for Spike in, this one, she suspected, held something more. "Just go," she mumbled, forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other.  
  
They'd also been checked during the day.  
  
The darkness inside was worse than the darkness outside. There was no moon in here, no gas lamps to light the way. Nothing but her footsteps to accompany her. A nice flashlight wouldn't be amiss. Even a penlight really. Taking a deep breath, she went midway in, listening to the wind blow through the empty space in the rafters above.  
  
Nothing jumped out at her, no one spoke, and no sudden noises startled her into running. The musty smell of the place forced a sneeze from her, quickly followed by another, but that was the only sounds she heard. Odds were, Spike wasn't there.  
  
Besides, daytime was a much better time to be here. She turned to go, stumbling as her feet got caught on a pile of rags. She flew forward, dropping her stake, hearing it clatter on the floor, then skid out of reach. Her hands caught her fall, smacking painfully on the stone floor.  
  
She laid there for a few seconds before rolling over and staring up at the ceiling. Her eyes were starting to adjust to the difference in light now, and she could see a little. There were huge windows in the ceiling, letting in moonlight and stars. The warehouse was empty of just about everything. She was in the main part of the building; to her right and left were abandoned offices. Dust covered the floor and pieces of broken wood beams littered the place.  
  
The empty place. It was obvious no one or no thing was there, otherwise they'd have made themselves known when she sneezed. Or when she fell, even if it was just to laugh at her.  
  
She sat up with a groan, brushing her stinging hands on her skirts and wiping her clothes off as best she could. "Graceful move there, slick."  
  
Pushing herself to her feet, she searched for her stake, feeling naked without it. It was a constant companion these days. London was a scary place even without all the demons roaming around.  
  
A large bank of windows lined the back of the building, letting in a small amount of the light that came mostly from directly above. She moved slowly in the direction of the rags, knowing her stake had rolled that way somewhere. As she got closer, she saw a hand resting limply on the ground.  
  
Her feet halted, her breath catching. Nothing alive was here, but how about dead things?  
  
Of their own volition, her feet moved her closer as her brain told her to leave. The synapses must've been misfiring, because she continued to move, her eyes following the curled fingers of the hand up to a pale arm, lying absolutely still on the floor.  
  
Fear was nudging her, but hope was there too. The hand could just as easily belong to a vampire as it could to a dead person. And Spike was a vampire. Her feet scuffed loudly on the dusty floor as she moved, but stopped completely as the hand moved and a light struck.  
  
Lantern light filled a portion of the room, flooding the blonde vampire in front of her in dancing, flickering light.  
  
"Well, now..." a cockney voice drawled, "aren't you a pretty red-haired filly?"  
  
Willow swallowed, forcing her throat to work past the dryness suddenly prevalent. "S-- sorry, didn't mean to, um, invade your... lair. I was just leaving." She turned around and hurried toward the rectangle of light from the door, not quite running yet.  
  
"Bet you'd be a great ride." There was a rustling noise behind her and footsteps.  
  
Now she ran, making it to the door and ten yards away before the vampire caught up with her. He grabbed her around the waist and swung her around with a laugh before dragging her back inside the warehouse.  
  
"Let go," she screamed, kicking her feet behind her and trying to elbow him enough to actually hurt him. Her blows did little to slow him down. "Let go." Clawing at his hands with her fingernails, she turned her head to the side, trying to bite him but his flesh wasn't within range. And he'd probably like it anyway. She screamed in frustration, wriggling around as much as she could.  
  
He dropped her on the rags, placing a foot on her chest to hold her still while he bent down to grab something. "Scream all you want. In fact," he said with relish, the grin in his voice obvious, "I'd prefer you did. I like it, it gets me all..." he inhaled deeply, looking at the ceiling in search of the right words, "excited."  
  
The moon, rising in the sky, hit the windows, lighting his face. His blonde hair, shoulder length and wavy, hung loose on either side of his face. A smirk curled up his thin lips, framing his sharp yellow fangs. His tan-colored breeches were clean, creating a strange image against the blood-stained white shirt and cream frock coat. He smelled of alcohol and blood. Raising her eyes to his hands, she saw what he'd been messing with and felt hope surge within her.  
  
Her stake twirled between his fingers.  
  
Shoving at his foot which weighed heavily on her chest, but didn't hurt a lot, she stared at him pointedly. "Hello? Do you mind?"  
  
"Oh," he mumbled, removing his foot. He brushed off his breeches, straightening his shoulders as he looked down at her. Tapping the stake against his thigh, he tilted his head to the side, his eyebrows raising in curiosity. "You're not afraid of me? You know about demons?"  
  
She nodded her head once, keeping her eyes pinned to his. "Yes. And yes I'm afraid. I'd be stupid not to be," she told him truthfully, pushing herself into a sitting position again. Not bothering to dust herself off this time, she tried to stand up but he shook his head with a warning look. Staying right where she was, she cleared her throat nervously. "I-- I was just looking for a friend. Blonde guy? Short hair... black leather coat? He's a vampire too."  
  
"You're friends with a vampire?" Testing the tip of the stake with his finger drew a drop of blood to the appendage which immediately went into his mouth. His eyes strayed over her, taking in her cleavage and neck. Which one held more interest for him, she really didn't know, and she really didn't care to find out.  
  
She nodded again, wondering why he was being so... non-bitey with her. Spike was the most patient vampire she knew, aside from Angel, but she thought maybe Spike was an anomaly in the vampire world. Angel had a soul, so what was this guy's excuse? Clearing her throat again, feeling it itch and scratch with the dust in the air, she climbed to her knees. He let her have that much. "Yes, he is. A very good friend. His name's William. I-- I really need to find him."  
  
When he didn't protest her new position, she put one foot under her and started to stand. He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, his fingers tightening into her flesh, then loosening again.  
  
She looked up and saw his gold eyes flickering in the lantern light. "And if I do know of him?" he asked, his voice low and silky, his eyes traveling down to her breasts. "What do I get for helping you? Why shouldn't I just tear your throat out?"  
  
His eyes didn't raise to her neck, they stayed on her breasts and she now had no doubt where his interests lay. Fear unfurled in her stomach, clutching tightly to her insides and refusing to let go. "M-- money? I have... well, I don't *have* any money, on me, but I could get some. I--"  
  
He shook his head, his eyes finally climbing higher than her neckline. "My needs are a little more immediate than money." He leaned closer to her, grinning in enjoyment. "And I'm not hungry."  
  
She jerked free of his grip, shoving him to the floor as she got up and ran. As before, he caught her easily, before she even reached the door this time. Dragging her back to the pile of rags, he threw her down, frowning at her. "Why do you keep running?" he asked.  
  
"What do you want?" she countered, swallowing past the lump in her throat.  
  
He circled around her slowly. A hand reached out, fingering her hair. "Red hair seems to be popular these days," he mumbled to himself.  
  
Confused by his comment, but concerned with other things, she decided not to bother questioning him. "Let me go, please. I-- I can do magick. I'll--"  
  
He interrupted her threatening to spin toward her with a grin, his eyes glowing excitedly in the lamplight. "Show me something." When she only stared at him fearfully, he chuckled, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "Tell you what. If you can kill me by staking me with your magick," he offered, spreading his arms wide open, "then you're free to go."  
  
She frowned at him, sure he was playing with her. "What?"  
  
"Stake me," he repeated, thumping his empty hand on his chest, directly over his heart. Laughter escaped him even as he tried to restrain his grin.  
  
She took a deep breath and climbed to her knees again, focusing all her attention on the stake in his hand, but it wasn't moving. Not even a tiny little bit. Undeterred, she tried again, calming her breathing and closing her eyes.  
  
She could do this. Hadn't she floated a pencil? Darn right she had. Floated a pencil and staked a vampire with it, only to be caught by Faith and the Mayor and... stemming the tide of bad thoughts, she forced her breathing to calm again.  
  
When she felt relaxed enough, trying desperately not to think about what would happen if she couldn't do it, she opened her eyes and thought about moving the stake. About lifting it up and plunging it into his chest.  
  
But nothing happened. Her nerves were too frazzled, her mind cluttered with thoughts of death and pain. Not necessarily in that order.  
  
"I-- I can't," she whispered, scrambling back, away from his quick advance.  
  
"I'm disappointed," he told her seriously, all amusement gone from his face and voice. He threw the stake across the building, and they both listened to it clunk on the floor and roll quietly into the shadows. "Now you'll have to find a way to amuse me."  
  
"Please," she said, still backing away. "Just... just let me go." She looked behind her to make sure her way was clear and by the time she looked forward again, he was there.  
  
"I won't hurt you," he whispered, leaning down to kiss her.  
  
She jerked away from him, frowning at the condescending tone he was using. "Yes, you will. I'm not stupid. You're a vampire, that's what you do: Hurt people."  
  
He shrugged, grabbing her shoulders with a grin. "You're right." Shoving her to the floor, he knelt at her feet. Watching her try to get away from him. With a chuckle, he took hold of her ankle and drew her back toward him, crawling up her body.  
  
She drew her fist back and punched him in the face, but the blow hurt her more than him. Her fist was now screaming in pain and he was only moving closer. She shoved at him, screaming at him to get off, and kicked, trying to get her feet under her enough to throw him off of her, but he was holding her tightly, not moving more than an inch with all her struggles. "Get off!"  
  
"No," he laughed, lowering his mouth to her neck. His breath washed over her, smelling of blood and rancid things. Things Spike never smelled of. This vampire's body reeked of dirt and dust, blood and alcohol.  
  
She closed her eyes, shoving at his face, trying to dislodge him from her neck. There was no pain like she expected, no piercing of flesh as fangs slid into her skin. There was a wet kiss, followed by more, trailing up her neck to her jaw. His lips slid up, moving like thin slugs against her flesh. He pressed his mouth against hers as his hands reached down under her skirt, pushing the material up, his fingernails scratching her calves and thighs.  
  
"Stop," she begged, feeling tears burning in her eyes. The ceiling above her shimmered, clearing with a blink. Tears slid into her hair. She shoved at his hands, fighting his ascent up her thighs. Tried to squirm out of his reach. Finally, in desperation, she lifted her knee to hit him between the legs, where his disgusting body was becoming excited. "I said stop!" she screamed, slamming her leg up.  
  
Her knee was halted by one of his hands pressing against her kneecap. The fingers of his other hand clutched at her chin, holding her head still as he snarled at her, warning her to hold still. His teeth lowered to her neck, scraping the flesh, but not sinking in. Not there.  
  
He sat up, straddling her waist, holding her hands with one of his and taking hold of her gown with his other. With one swift jerk, the material over her breasts tore, exposing her to his gaze. The flimsy chemise beneath the gown tore as well, leaving her nothing to hide behind. "Ah," he said appreciatively. "You're a thing of beauty," he said in a sophisticated accent, his laughter drowning out her sobs.  
  
She fought against his grip, wanting to cover herself up, but her hands stayed tight in his. "Stop..." she sobbed, "p-- please." She struggled harder when he leaned down. A second later, his cold, wet mouth touched her breast. His teeth scraped the flesh before sinking in deep, drawing her blood out for only a second.  
  
He lifted his head moments later, smirking at her as he licked a drop of blood from one of his fangs. His hands released hers to grip the sides of her torn gown and rip it further. She covered her cold body with her arms, earning her a chuckle from him.  
  
He moved lower over her body, down to her legs. Sitting on her calves, he shoved her skirts up, frowning at her shoes. "What kind of footwear is that?" he asked curiously, fingering the red material and then lifting one of the white laces. "Must be American," he scoffed.  
  
She let out a short laugh, blinking back tears, shivering in the cold air. A trickle of blood ran down her breast into the space between them. She held in a sob, shuddering in disgust as he leaned down and licked at the blood, trailing his tongue up to her neck. The wet appendage felt like a slimy worm, inching its way across her skin. "Please," she whispered, closing her eyes against his blonde hair. She couldn't shut out the feel of it as easily as it fell on her breasts and moved along her arm.  
  
And then came the pain again. His fangs ripped into her stomach, tearing at the flesh as he tried to get a grip on the skin. His mouth opened wider, sucking on the blood that welled out, drawing it into his mouth with a repulsive sucking sound. Like the last bit of milk being sucked through a straw.  
  
His hands slid under her skirt again as he sat up and unbuttoned his breeches. She shoved at him, as hard as she could, scrambling away on her hands and knees, trying to get far enough away to be able to get to her feet, but she couldn't seem to get away at all. He grabbed her ankle again, and dragged her back to him, sliding her back under him as he raised up to release his erection.  
  
She screamed and kicked, catching him in the thigh, narrowly missing his crotch. His amber eyes lowered to hers, and his hand shot out, clutching the torn pieces of her gown. His fingers clawed over the bite wound on her stomach, his eyes watching her as she hissed in pain, not giving him the satisfaction of hearing her scream again. He shrugged a little and pushed her skirts up, crawling back over her.  
  
She searched desperately for something to use against him, but there was nothing near. Nothing but rags. He licked his lips, readying himself to rape her and reached down to guide himself in. She clenched her legs together, clawing at his face and neck.  
  
"I *will* kill you," she warned him, her eyes raising to his. Something there must have caught his attention because he paused for a second, but then he shoved her legs open and thrust into her with all the force he could muster. She screamed this time. Screamed as his flesh entered her, burning every inch of her as he moved inside her dry body. The force of his first thrust pushed her backward and her hand hit something hard.  
  
Turning her hand around, she grabbed the thick wooden beam and clutched it tightly with her fingers, feeling the soft wood give under her fingernails. Getting a good grip on it, she swung it straight at his head.  
  
Now it was his turn to yell in pain, she thought with satisfaction.  
  
He fell off of her with the force of the blow, landing on his side on the rag-covered floor. She quickly swung the two-foot beam again, just glancing the wood off his shoulder and arm, cracking and splintering the beam. It startled him and he laid on the floor for a moment, stunned, just long enough for her to get on her knees and grab it with both hands, draw it back over her head and bring it down as hard as she could.  
  
The wood hit his skull, sounding like a baseball hitting a bat. She gagged at the sound, almost dropping the wood from her loosening hands. Sweat poured down her forehead as she climbed to her feet and held it like a stake, stabbing the splintered end into his chest. The wood sank into his flesh, right above his heart, hitting the stone floor beneath him. "I told you I'd kill you," she whispered, waiting for him to turn to ash, but all he did was scream and try to yank the wood free.  
  
He succeeded in getting it free, coughing up blood as he laughed. "You can't kill me. I've been staked three times before." He coughed again, spitting blood on the floor, some of it dripped down his cheek and chin. "I'm immortal."  
  
Willow shook her head, grabbing the beam and backing away. Clutching it to her, she stared at him, not believing him. He wasn't immortal. He wasn't indestructible. She just had to find a way. Moving forward slowly, she lifted the beam, hefting it over her right shoulder and swinging it at his head as she neared.  
  
He tried to roll out of the way, but couldn't, not in time. His head connected with the wood, sending him to the floor where he stayed, unconscious.  
  
She stared at him dispassionately. Her hands loosened and the wood beam clunked on the floor. She dropped to her knees beside it, shivering in the cold night air. Clutching the ends of her torn gown to her, she shoved herself to her feet and headed to the rags. Grabbing handfuls of them, she tossed them near the body on the floor, glancing around, her eyes searching the cavernous room.  
  
Her footsteps were quiet as she strode across the warehouse, heading for the office on the right. There was a desk and a broken chair in there. The door was no longer hanging on its hinges in the doorway, it was on the floor in front of the desk. The chair beside the desk was what held her attention. It was a heavy wooden chair made for posh surroundings, not this dust-filled atmosphere. Or the body out there.  
  
Hefting the chair up a few inches didn't get her very far. Dropping it back down, she dragged it into the other room, the legs scraping loudly on the stone floor, screeching every once in a while.  
  
Her arms felt leaden after she was through, but she paid them no attention. Her mind was working on the next problem; getting the vampire into the chair.  
  
If she set the chair on its side and slid him into position, trying him to the chair, then she could merely lift the chair upright. Or, she could move the chair back against one of the many support beams throughout the room and drag the vampire to the chair, hefting him into it.  
  
The former option seemed best, so she set about doing it.  
  
_____________________________________________  
  
Half an hour later, Willow returned to the warehouse, cautiously entering the building, being as quiet as she could. She heard the distant sound of scraping and mild cursing, alerting her to the vampire's position.  
  
Still tied to the chair. Still as helpless as a baby.  
  
She'd gotten him into the chair with a lot of grunt work and her muscles were starting to pay the price now, but she still had some things to do. The pain would be ignored until she was through.  
  
Striding purposefully into the warehouse, she made as much noise as possible, letting him know she was there, letting him worry and sweat it out and fear her. And he should fear her.  
  
"You bloody bitch," he shouted at her as she neared, "untie me!"  
  
"No." Moving closer to the naked vampire, she pulled a bottle of holy water free from her pocket, holding it up for him to see. Making sure he got a real close look at it.  
  
His eyes widened and then narrowed in panic. His struggling increased, his whole body shaking the chair until it nearly tipped over. "Come near me with that and I'll--"  
  
"Beg," she told him, uncorking the bottle. Her eyes fixed on his, cold and hard and unflinching. "Beg me."  
  
He scoffed at her, resuming his struggles. She shrugged and moved closer, stepping as close to him as she possibly could before she started to panic and gag. Holding the jar above his lap, she dribbled a few drops down his chest, making sure to get some in the stake wound. Just a few drops to give him a taste of what was to come.  
  
He hissed in pain, sucking in his chest to get away from the water. His face turned, his gold eyes glaring furiously at her. "Bitch," he snarled, shifting around in the chair. "I'm going to enjoy killing you."  
  
"No," she countered forcefully, her hand grabbing his face to hold him still. "I'm going to kill you." She shrugged, holding the bottle above his lap again. "Eventually." Her eyes dropped to his lap, widening in disgust when she saw his erection. She tipped the bottle over in panic, fighting the fear eating away at her. The water poured out, at least a half a cup of it, soaking his legs and penis.  
  
He screamed in pain, throwing his head back and shaking the chair frantically to get free. The chair legs clattered loudly against the floor. His flesh sizzled and acrid smoke rose from him, choking her. She coughed, gagging at the smell of burning flesh. The sight of it was the worst; formerly pale white skin was now red and bubbling, melting away from him in rivulets.  
  
"Bitch!" he screamed, his hands clenching and unclenching. His eyes landed on hers again, and she knew that if he got free she would die in the most painful way possible.  
  
She dribbled more water down his chest and onto his lap, along his thighs and then stepped back, splashing it in his face. His body arched away from the chair, his screams turning deafening. But then they stopped and he sagged into the chair.  
  
Pulling a stake from her sleeve, she moved closer and waited. Waited for him to wake up. Kneeling on the floor, she kept her eyes trained on him, not looking away once. Ten minutes later, he groaned, shifting in the chair.  
  
"Bloody... hell," he whimpered. His eyes shot open, fixing on her face. "Kill me," he warned her, "because if you don't, I am definitely going to kill you." His grin was halfhearted, his voice raspy. His eyes slid closed a few times as she got to her feet in front of him.  
  
"There's this condition," she said conversationally, tightening her grip on the stake as she moved to his right side. "Doctors call it Mirror-Image Dextro-something-or-other." Holding the stake up at chest level, she settled the tip on the right side of his chest, scraping the pointed end against his flesh. "I read about it once, happened upon it on a web page when I was looking for conditions caused by this demon we were researching."  
  
"What the hell are you-- ow! Stop that," he ordered, staring down at the stake still poised over his heart.  
  
"Again, no." Her eyes followed the thin trail of blood as it dripped down his chest to what remained of his lap. A big, gooey mess just about covered it. "Anyway, what it means is... some people are born with their organs--lungs, kidneys..." her eyes flickered up to his, "heart--on the opposite side. Which would put your heart right about..." she moved the stake point an inch to her left, drew back and shoved it into his heart. "Here."  
  
"No!" he shouted, but the scream turned into a roar as he burst into dust. 


	17. Time Stitch 17

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing here except the plot. The characters and all things Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Twentieth Century, the Pope, and whoever else wants to claim them and actually receives royalties from them. That's not me, so... there ya go.  
  
PAIRING: W/S  
  
RATING: Strong R (17/?)  
  
SUMMARY: Spike uses Willow to go back in time to avoid being implanted by the Initiative... has even one of Spike's plans ever gone right? They end up a little further back in time than he intended.  
  
DEDICATED: To my beta, Claudia! She rules. Helped me work through a ton of stuff, caught things I'd read a hundred times and never noticed, and did the best thing of all; the easiest thing in the world to get a writer to write... she begged for more.  
  
PART 17  
  
"Red," a voice called impatiently. "Red!"  
  
Willow lifted her head up to find herself in the Slayer's house with Angelus standing above her. "Angelus," she muttered, climbing to her feet to face him. She'd learned two things from her experience in the warehouse. One: She wasn't entirely helpless as long as she had her magick. And two: She preferred to meet death bravely rather than cowering in a corner.  
  
If he wanted to kill her, he'd do it to her face.  
  
Her memories from the dream were fading quickly, and the faster the better. She didn't like feeling that... out of control.  
  
Angelus smirked at her, pacing back and forth slowly, like a soldier facing his troops. His hands were behind his back, his boots ringing loudly on the floor. A faint smell of leather rose from him, and she wondered at that. He wasn't wearing any. Horses maybe?  
  
"Red-- what's your name?" he asked suddenly.  
  
"Petunia," she told him, her eyes wide and innocent, her smirk just as big. She shrugged and inwardly patted herself on the back for the control she had over herself. As long as she kept control, she was okay. Things would be okay.  
  
He reached out and grabbed her wrist, dragging her toward him slowly, drawing out her fear as he vamped out and snarled at her. "Your name--" he began, but then stopped with a sniff, looking down at her. "Your vampire's stench is all over you," he told her, snarling in disgust.  
  
"My vampire?" she snorted, rolling her eyes. "William's not my vampire. He's *a* vampire. Big difference."  
  
His amused smile lit up his face, his bright shiny white teeth flashing in the darkened room. "And who owns you, if not William?" he asked softly.  
  
She frowned, backing away from him. "No one owns me. Look, I'm sorry if I offend you, but I didn't have time to bathe today... you know, with all the kidnaping and such." She shrugged in mock apology, forcing a smirk to her lips. "Just don't breathe too deeply and you should be fine."  
  
He moved with her, his hand shooting out to wrap around her neck, tightening just enough to make breathing difficult. His thumb moved lightly against her skin, forcing a shudder from her. "You're not his whore then?"  
  
She shoved his hands away from her and tried to pull away, but he held on, not letting her go anywhere this time. "I'm no one's anything," she bit out, her hard eyes boring into his. "What do you want?"  
  
"Mm," he said absently, running his hand up to her jaw to hold her face still. Staring down at her, he vamped out. "Do you think they'll let me turn you? These powers speaking through you?" Pulling the collar of her gown away from her skin to look down at her breasts, he ignored her slapping hands again. "I think you'd make a nice little addition to our family."  
  
His feral grin sent cold chills through her entire body.  
  
________________________________________________  
  
Spike looked up at the Slayer's house, noting the boarded-up windows. There were definitely vampires in there. If he hadn't felt them, the windows were all the proof he needed. Several heartbeats were inside as well, he just hoped one of them was Willow.  
  
Striding up to the front door, he tried the knob, hoping to get in without being stopped. Odds were the vampires--new recruits since he'd killed their last minions--would think he was just one of the family. In keeping with Angelus' style, there were no vampire guards posted close to the house. Didn't want to draw attention.  
  
Loud laughter and snarling met him with the opening of the door. The inside was mostly still intact, not trashed like most vampire lairs. Sconces and candles were lit across the foyer, along with a roaring fire in the drawing room off the hall. A group of ragtag vampires, looking no older than a week, sat around the drawing room, drinking whiskey and blood.  
  
A servant girl huddled in one corner, her hands tied and her mouth gagged. Her long brown hair was hanging loose, her clothes torn in spots. Blood ran from the corner of her mouth and from somewhere in her hair, dripping down her forehead. Her large blue eyes found his, begging for help, not knowing he was just as much a monster as her captors.  
  
She was scared to death and probably in pain, but he couldn't help her. Didn't know if he would even if he could. She was nothing to him.  
  
Willow was his only priority. She was the one he'd come for, the one he wouldn't leave behind. The one he cared about.  
  
If Angelus had touched her, hurt her in any way, Spike was going to kill him, no matter the future. Even as he thought it, he knew he was lying to himself. He couldn't jeopardize his own future for petty revenge.  
  
Angelus had a habit of using women for either food or fun, and since he had a grudge with them, he was pretty sure Angelus would choose fun.  
  
The wide staircase directly in front of the door seemed the best place to start. They would've put her somewhere she couldn't easily get to the ground from, in case the boarded-up windows didn't keep her in. Taking the stairs slowly, one at a time, so as not to draw attention, he ascended the circular staircase, listening for heartbeats and voices as he went.  
  
He sniffed here and there, hoping to catch her scent. It was faint, but it was there. Too many other creatures in the place to pinpoint it, but he knew she was there. As he reached the top of the landing, Darla stepped out in front of him.  
  
"Angelus was right," she said smugly, her eyes traveling over him with distaste. "You came for her. For a human."  
  
"Sorry to disappoint you," he shrugged, taking the last step up, his hands fisting at his sides. Glancing away briefly, he looked down the long hall, hoping to see a sign of Willow's presence. He had to force himself not to kill Darla, the thorn in his side. Her manner was always so haughty, and she thought her word gospel. She thought she was better than everyone else and because of Cecily, he'd always had a problem with women like that.  
  
"You're a disgrace to all vampires," she tossed at him, snarling her disgust like venom.  
  
He laughed, hoping he was around to see Darla's face when she found out about Angel's soul. Maybe he'd ask Willow to take another little detour, just to see the smug smile scraped off Darla's face. "Yeah, you remember that in about... oh, twenty-eight years or so. Now," he said, shooting his hands out to grab her arms, "where is she?"  
  
Darla inhaled, looking at him seductively, her laughter floating through the silent hallway. "I don't mind the pain." She moved closer to him as he tightened his hands around her arms.  
  
Annoyance shot through him. Darla was always in his way, interfering and sticking her nose in where it didn't belong. She had meddled countless times in his relationship with Dru, who'd let herself sometimes be swayed by the older vampire. Darla was the epitome of everything he despised. He hated Darla as much as he loved Dru.  
  
"Pain," he said absently, "funny you should mention that." He head-butted her with a grin. "Because, I don't mind doling it out." She reeled back with a gasp, not having expected the blow. Kicking her in the chest, he sent her flying backwards to land on her ass on the hall floor. "A good position for you," he told her snidely, "on the floor, groveling. I always knew I'd have you there one day."  
  
She snarled and jumped up, diving at him. He sidestepped her and grabbed one of the railing posts, kicking at it to break it free. The wood splintered off in his hands, one end blunt, the other sharp and pointy. Handy, that.  
  
She landed on her hands and knees near him, and was up again almost immediately. Holding the stake up at chest level, he grabbed her arm and spun her around, setting the stake against her chest.  
  
"Now," he said softly, "where is that pesky human everyone seems to want to take from me?"  
  
Darla glanced down at the stake and sighed, pointing toward the end of the hall. "Angelus is with her." She laughed lightly, her little-girl voice grating on his nerves. "He's teaching her a lesson. Or two," she chuckled.  
  
Spike dragged her with him down the hall, keeping her prisoner in much the same way Buffy had once done to Dru in a far off bomb shelter in a far off town.  
  
"Open it," he told her as they approached. He could hear voices inside and hoped that was a good sign. If she was talking, she was okay. He hoped. Angelus' lessons were always hard ones. Dru had lost a few of her marbles during some of those lessons. Spike himself had almost snapped a few times. Angelus liked pain even more than Darla, he especially liked to give pain, and human women had always been a favorite of his.  
  
Darla reached out and turned the key, unlocking the door and twisting the knob. The door swung open slowly, revealing Willow on her knees with Angelus above her, his hand raised to strike her.  
  
Stepping into the room, he kept his eyes on Angelus. He was the biggest threat. Darla was neutralized for the moment, not a huge threat without him screwing up big-time. Seeing Willow's eyes dart to him, he tilted his head to the side, acknowledging her as Angelus' hand dropped to his side. "Miss me, love?"  
  
Relief shone in her eyes and she nodded and smiled widely. "Not one whit."  
  
Spike chuckled, shoving his concern for her to the back of his mind. She looked fine. A single bite mark graced her neck, looking rather nasty, but she was okay. They'd get free, and then take off to the Great White North. Or the 1880's.  
  
"Darla," Angelus said jovially, "I told you he'd come for her." He spun around, chuckling evilly.  
  
Darla nodded, smiling too much for someone who was at the mercy of a stake. Angelus looked past Spike, toward the door. Too late, Spike realized there were vampires behind him. He spun around, shoving the stake into Darla's chest a ways, drawing blood, but not killing her. Two of the huge burly guys he'd seen downstairs with the servant girl moved forward and grabbed his arms, dragging him away from Darla.  
  
His makeshift stake clattered to the floor as his arms were encased in the beefy hands of the vampires. His eyes followed it as it rolled toward Willow. She was watching the stake as well, with just her eyes, her head stayed high, her face blank. The stake came to rest by her calf, half-hidden under her skirts. While everyone's attention was on Spike, she slipped the stake further under her skirts, hiding it completely.  
  
Angelus turned back to her suddenly, frowning. Spike kicked up a fuss, hollering and freeing himself briefly, knowing the pursuit of freedom was in vain. His efforts worked, drawing all attention away from Willow. She smiled a little in his direction, thanking him without words.  
  
He freed his left arm when Angelus neared him, and punched the bastard in the face, glancing at Willow as Angelus's head snapped to the side. Angelus motioned toward the two goons. They tugged him in the direction of the lone chair in the room and quickly shoved him into it, using a set of chains on the floor beside the chair.  
  
They wrapped the chains around his ankles and locked the short piece. Another was wrapped around each wrist, tethered to the chair arms. A bigger piece was wrapped tightly around his chest and around the back of the chair, locked with a click from behind him.  
  
He was solidly stuck. Not going anywhere.  
  
Once he was secured in the chair, Angelus hit him, landing a solid punch to Spike's right eye.  
  
Vamping out, he growled at Angelus, working at his chains, trying to free himself.  
  
Angelus moved behind him, spinning the chair in Willow's direction. "Now," he said with glee. "Let the show begin." He circled around Willow, his eyes promising horrible tortures, things she couldn't even begin to imagine. Things Spike knew all too well.  
  
The thought of Angelus touching Willow at all had him forcing back fury, but knowing the things Angelus liked to do to women had him the smallest bit frightened. His eyes found Angelus'. "If you touch her, I'll kill you."  
  
Willow frowned at him. Her brows dipped down minutely as her fingers clutched her gown. "Spike," she said loudly, shaking her head a little. "I mean William..." she rolled her eyes at herself. "Oh heck, I mean Spike. His name is Spike, okay everyone? Ooo," she waved her empty hands in the air in front of her, "now I've done it. Told the evil vampires your name. Now time's gonna spin wildly out of control and things will randomly explode."  
  
Darla raised an eyebrow at Willow, her mouth twisting up in annoyance. "Can't we gag her?" she asked Angelus.  
  
The two goons beside Spike shared a confused look, obviously more muscle than brains. Darla sighed at them, waving her hand toward the door. "You can go. But guard the door."  
  
The burly guys showed no emotion on their stone faces as they left the room behind, shutting the door so hard it shook in its frame.  
  
Testing the strength of the chains while Darla and Angelus stared at the door in annoyance, he felt them give only half an inch, not enough to free himself.  
  
He caught Willow's eye and glanced down at the chains, moving his hands a little at the wrist. The chains clinked softly as he shifted.  
  
Angelus, unaware of the silent exchange, slid his hand down Willow's shoulder, brushing her hair away from her neck. He leaned over to whisper in her ear, his eyes on Spike. "What do you say? Should we put something in your mouth to keep you quiet?"  
  
Willow closed her eyes briefly, holding herself still. Spike could see the struggle it took for her not to stake Angelus. Not to go ballistic. A small shudder shook her body, but when her eyes opened, they were clear. She stared at the wall across from her, ignoring Angelus as much as she could.  
  
"No?" he taunted, his fingers tightening on her jaw, turning her head roughly toward him. "Answer me, Red."  
  
Willow fisted her hands at her sides, her eyes fastening on Angelus' face. "I told you not to call me that," she ground out.  
  
"You're not exactly in a position to be giving orders." Shoving himself to his feet, he strode over to stand in front of Spike. "And what, pray tell, are you smirking about?" His fist shot out, catching Spike in the jaw.  
  
"You," Spike answered, laughing at the dark-haired vampire as he moved his jaw back and forth. "I'm smirking at you." He leaned as far forward as he could, his tone conspiratorial, "You're letting a little human witch get the better of you." He relaxed back into his seat, glancing away as if bored. "You're pathetic."  
  
"Oh, I'm pathetic," Angelus sneered, spinning back around toward Willow. "I'm not the vampire who risked his life to save a mortal. And I," he ground out, grabbing Willow's hair roughly, forcing her head back a small ways, "am not the one who whines when someone besides her vampire lover calls her a name that's apparently reserved only for him."  
  
Spike shrugged lazily. "The lady's fond of me, I have no say in her affections." His eyes landed on Willow again, taking in the slight pink tint to her cheeks. "And I have no say in my own either," he said softly, more for her ears than Angelus'.  
  
Willow's eyes lifted to his, ignoring Angelus' tight hold on her.  
  
"Well," Angelus sneered, rolling his eyes, "isn't this sweet? Should we leave the two lovebirds alone, Darla?"  
  
Darla snickered, striding toward Spike. She raised her fingers, wiping the blood from her chest. Her eyes dropped to the smear of blood on her fingers as she circled around him. Her other hand threaded through his hair, her nails scraping against his scalp as she jerked his head back.  
  
"Ceiling could use a coat of paint," he remarked, turning his eyes to Darla.  
  
She shoved her blood-coated finger between his lips and then pushed his head back down. He tried not to taste the blood, the powerful blood of his great-grand sire, but it was there, on his lips, his tongue, the corner of his mouth. His tongue darted out to lick at the blood, his eyes catching Willow's eyes as she hastily looked away.  
  
"Oh," Darla gasped dramatically, "I think she's horrified." She viciously raked her nails down his cheek, licking her lips as small rivulets of blood welled up from the scratches. She swiped at it with her thumb and headed over to Willow. "Care for a taste, honey?"  
  
"No, thanks," she said in disgust, turning her head away and keeping her mouth firmly closed.  
  
Darla shrugged, sucking her thumb into her mouth, closing her eyes briefly as she tasted his blood. "Mmm," she moaned, "his blood is strong."  
  
Angelus tossed him an irritated glance and swiped his hand at the blood on Spike's cheek. He shoved his finger into his mouth, rolling his eyes at Darla. "Tastes like blood to me," he muttered, "normal, weak blood."  
  
Spike chuckled at him. "You said it, mate, not me."  
  
Willow silently watched the exchange, her face expressionless.  
  
Swiping more blood from Spike's cheek, making him feel like an all-you-can-eat buffet, Angelus shoved his finger toward Willow's lips. Once again, she turned her head away and clamped her lips shut. "That wasn't a suggestion," Angelus told her, pressing his thumb and forefinger into her cheeks to force her mouth open. "Come on, baby," he encouraged, "or I'll find something else to put in there."  
  
Spike saw Willow's hand tighten on the fabric of her skirts, the stake underneath the taupe material clutched in her fingers. The blood wouldn't hurt her, it was too small an amount, but Angelus likely would hurt her if she didn't just taste it.  
  
She shook her head free of Angelus' hold and glared as he slid his finger between her lips. "There," she spat, turning her head to the side to remove Angelus' finger, "I tasted it, it was gross, now get away from me."  
  
Spike groaned, knowing Angelus was getting angry at her. He didn't like being told what to do, or how to do things, and since meeting Willow she'd done nothing but order him around. Well, the Time Stabilizer had done some of that, but it'd done it through Willow. "Willow," he warned, shaking his head at her.  
  
"Ah, Willow," Angelus said softly. "Now isn't that a sweet, precious name?" He moved behind her again, paying scant attention to anyone but himself and his own musings. "Now that I've decided to add you to the family," he told her, running a hand down her hair, "let's get started on the torture, shall we? I think first we'll begin with--"  
  
Willow didn't let him finish, she was tired of being abused. She lifted her right hand, which was clutching the stake, and yelled, "Release!" turning and standing at the same time, stabbing Angelus in the arm.  
  
Spike's chains dropped to the floor and he wasted no time in jumping to his feet and shaking off the remainder of the chains. Diving across the room, he planted a fist in Angelus' face as he jumped back up with a snarl.  
  
Darla advanced on Willow as Angelus stumbled backward, grabbing his bloody arm. Willow swung the stake at Darla, scraping a line across her stomach, ripping the material of her gown and drawing blood.  
  
"Bitch," Darla snarled, stalking toward Willow.  
  
"Okay, that is it!" Willow yelled, holding her hands out toward Angelus as he climbed back to his feet. Green energy shot out from her hands, catching Angelus in the stomach, throwing him ten feet across the room to smack into the wall and drop to the floor. Shrugging her shoulders back, cracking her neck, she faced Darla, who'd stopped to look at Angelus.  
  
"Hurry, Willow," Spike called to her, jumping at the door as it started to open. The goons were big, and burly, and three times as much flesh as he was, it wouldn't be long before they crashed into the room. "We've gotta go."  
  
She turned to Darla, holding her hands out. He got a good look at her eyes, swirling blackness, just like the last time, only this was all her. Her magick. Bloody hell, what had she gotten into recently?  
  
Another shot left her hands, tossing Darla into the far wall like a rag doll. She crumpled in a heap on the floor, blood running down her forehead, already forgotten as Willow turned toward him.  
  
"Down," she told him, hardly waiting until he dove across the room before letting go a shot of energy. He landed on his side on the floor as the magick hit the door, exploding in all directions, blowing it to pieces.  
  
A three-inch thick piece hit him in the thigh, leaving six inches of it sticking out from the bloody wound. At least another four inches were impaled in his leg. Hissing as pain burned through his thigh, he glanced toward Willow. She sent more magick soaring toward the vampires in the hall, her pleased smile scaring him a little.  
  
He pushed himself into a partial sitting position, gritting his teeth as he wrapped his hand around the piece of wood. His grunt of pain was drowned out by the screams of the vampires as bright orange flames shot toward them, lighting them up like Roman candles.  
  
He managed to move the wood in his leg an inch before needing to stop. Bracing himself in anticipation of the pain, he yanked the wood from his leg, shouting into the sudden, deafening silence. He sank back against the wall, dropping the bloody wood to the floor. Sweat dripped down his forehead and into the scratches on his cheek, stinging the flesh there.  
  
"Spike?" Willow called to him, peering in his direction through the dust and smoke. She coughed a few times, waving her hand in front of her face. "Spike, where are you?" Her voice was panicked, her eyes searching desperately through the dim room. "Oh God, I didn't--"  
  
"Here," he said, coughing a few times. The smoke was acrid and sour tasting as well as bitter and-- fleshy. She'd killed them all. "Here," he repeated, collapsing back against the wall.  
  
She dropped to the floor beside him, her eyes wide and panicked, her breathing frantic. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--" her hands fluttered above the wound in his leg, not quite daring to touch it. "I didn't mean to hurt you."  
  
She'd just murdered a dozen or more vampires and she was too squeamish to touch a little blood? He laughed, coughing from the smoke and ash fluttering around in the air. "I'm fine," he assured her, "help me up." Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he got his feet under him, keeping most of the pressure off his hurt leg.  
  
A wailing sound began nearby and he had the odd thought that it was sirens from a fire truck, but of course, this was way before their time. The wailing turned into loud moaning, mournful and desperate. A figure appeared in the doorway, her hands, held out before her in a pleading manner, were filled with vampire dust.  
  
"They're dead. They're all dead," she whispered, moaning louder. Her eyes stayed fast on Willow, her hands raised with the dust which fluttered to the ground and spread in the air. "You killed them." Her face turned, her eyes glowing in the darkened atmosphere of the room. "I--" she stopped, her eyes sliding in his direction, her head turning slowly.  
  
His hand tightened on Willow's shoulder. She groaned a little and moved away, but he hardly noticed. Here then was his dark Goddess, beautiful and demented. His eyes washed over her, taking in every little detail, relishing this chance to see her before he was turned. This was a part of her he'd never gotten to know, or see.  
  
"I know you," she whispered, her face returning to human, her eyes glazing over as she dropped her hands to her sides and moved toward him. The vampire dust fell to the floor, forgotten. Her lips turned up in a confused smile, her forehead wrinkling. "You were at my church."  
  
Spike nodded, unable to think of a single thing to say. He'd seen her as a human, seen her just after being turned, but this again was a different incarnation of his beloved. She'd mellowed a little, and was more like the woman he'd fallen so deeply in love with.  
  
He glanced sideways at Willow, watched as she moved out from under his arm, forcing him to stand on his own. He hobbled a little, and reached out a hand to catch himself on the wall. Willow looked down at the floor, then at Drusilla, but she didn't look at him.  
  
He turned back to Drusilla, wondering why it bothered him so much that Willow was there to witness all this. She didn't want him, she'd proved that this morning. Proved she wanted a willing body to service her, and nothing more.  
  
So, she could bloody well see this and more for all he cared.  
  
Only, he did care, and he held back from moving closer to Dru. "Magick," he told her, keeping his eyes on Dru. Dru snarled and vamped out, reaching out for Willow when she was suddenly hit in the side of the head with a long piece of wood from the door. Dru growled and dove forward, grabbing Willow and pulling her close for another love bite. "I said use magick," Spike shouted, trying to yank Drusilla off of Willow.  
  
"I can't," she yelled back, "I'm empty." She kept her hands between Dru and herself, pushing on the vampire's chest, keeping her at arm's length as Spike worked at pulling his lover free from... well, his other lover.  
  
"Dru!" he snapped, furious with his lack of strength. He couldn't help Willow if Dru got her mouth on Willow's neck, there was no way he'd be able to stop that. Grabbing her arms from behind, he pulled with all his strength, finally succeeding in tearing her away from Willow. Willow was jerked forward as well and nearly fell before catching her footing.  
  
"I'm hungry," Dru whimpered, pouting up at him from the floor. "Daddy said--"  
  
"Daddy," Spike ground out, tossing a hateful glance in the direction Angel lay. "Daddy, daddy, daddy! Let me tell you something, Dru." He limped over to her and leaned down, yanking her up from the floor. "Your precious daddy is a--"  
  
"Spike," Willow warned, "don't." She moved closer to him, staying out of reach of Drusilla, but close enough to touch him. She didn't though. She kept her hands completely to herself. "You can't warn her. You can't... change things."  
  
Drusilla looked from one to the other, her whimpering growing louder. That sound had always annoyed him to a certain degree. He'd loved her with his entire being, would've died for her a hundred times over, but at times she got to be truly annoying.  
  
He looked down at his love, then planted his fist in her face, setting her gently on the floor when she sagged in his hands. He smoothed a few strands of hair from her cheek, brushing it back before straightening up. "Let's go." He limped toward the door, moving as quickly as his leg would allow him.  
  
Willow followed quietly behind, slipping under his arm without a word.  
  
The hallway was scorched, the wallpaper and paint peeling up and singed, bubbling in a few places. Piles of dust lined the floor, spread throughout the hall all the way to the stairwell. Smoke and ash coated the railing, the steps, filtering down to the lower parts of the house. A small spot of the wall was burning slowly, creeping along the wall, bursting into flames as they descended the stairs.  
  
Willow practically dropped him in her effort to snuff out the flames. She slapped her hands against the wall, burning herself in the process, but she only wiped her palms on her skirts, looking around with a sniffle once the flames were out. "I did it again." Her eyes dropped to the floor, her frown confused and worried.  
  
Before he could ask her what she meant, they heard a cough in the distance, growing louder as they neared the bottom of the stairs. Willow stood straighter, looking for a weapon to protect them with. She grabbed a vase from a pedestal by the doorway. Spike chuckled as she raised it over her head threateningly, creeping forward.  
  
"Human," he told her, his voice hoarse from all the smoke and dust he'd inhaled. "Servant girl." He limped toward the door, expecting her to follow, but he should've known better. Of course she'd run into the other room and help the girl.  
  
He leaned against the wall, waiting for Willow to reemerge from the drawing room, helping her poor little human to safety. He couldn't begrudge her the compassion she had for others, after all, if she didn't feel things as deeply as she did, would she have ever looked twice at him? Ever come to think of him as a friend? Not likely.  
  
Five minutes later, he was still waiting for her. He heard quiet voices, and what sounded like sniffling. Sighing in annoyance, he hobbled to the door, peering through the gloom to see them still on the floor where he'd first spotted the servant tied up. Willow was hugging the girl as she cried, trying to comfort her with a soothing hand down her back and soothing words in her ear.  
  
Spike limped into the room, dropping down onto a settee nearby. "Willow, if you're done playing nursemaid, we've gotta go."  
  
She raised her head from the girl's shoulder, but she didn't look at him. The girl pulled away from Willow, sniffling a few times as she glanced his way. She ran a nervous hand down her ratted hair, which was way beyond repair with the blood and knots in it. She tried to smooth it down though and ducked her head, darting her eyes toward him a few times.  
  
"Thank you, Milady," she whispered to Willow, wiping her teary eyes. She turned to Spike, whispering loudly, in a confiding tone, "They were beasts, Milord. Monsters with horrid faces." She sniffed a few more times, sounding all wet and nasty, dripping with things better not thought about. "Thank you for rescuing us, Milord. My mistress wasn't home--"  
  
Spike rolled his eyes, standing up slowly. "Don't thank me." He nodded his head toward Willow. "She's the one saving you."  
  
The girl nodded, dropping her eyes to the floor, looking properly rebuked. "Yes, Milord."  
  
"Stop calling me that," he sighed, leaving the room behind. Tossing a smirk back in Willow's direction, he hobbled in the direction of the large white door, which loomed in front of him a million miles away. "Come on, *My Lady*, we have to get out of here."  
  
"We can't just leave her here," Willow protested, grabbing the girl's hand and pulling her with them. "Angelus and the others are still up there, still alive. And they're going to be extremely angry when they wake up."  
  
"Then I suggest you send her on her way a little faster than you're doing," he said, rolling his eyes. Frowning at the door, which seemed to be moving further out of reach with every step, he ignored the pain in his leg and pushed himself to move faster.  
  
The dark-haired girl shook her head, tucking the loose strands behind her ear with one hand. "I'm sorry, Milady, I can't leave. My mistress--"  
  
"Yes, you can," Willow insisted, dragging the protesting girl behind her. "There are more beasts up there. And they'll kill you. After they torture you."  
  
The girl shuddered, looking fearfully up at the second floor. "All right, Milady," she whispered, following behind Willow as they left the house behind. 


	18. Time Stitch 18

**Title:** Time Stitches You (18/?)  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing here except the plot. The characters and all things Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Twentieth Century, the Pope, and whoever else wants to claim them and actually receives royalties from them. That's not me, so... there ya go.  
**Pairing:** W/S  
**Rating:** R  
**Summary:** Spike uses Willow to go back in time to avoid being implanted by the Initiative. Has even one of Spike's plans ever gone right? They end up a little further back in time than he intended.  
**Dedicated:** To all the people who have read this story, who've given me feedback, and still bug me to this day to finish this and all my other unfinished fics. Thank you all so very much!  
**A/N:** I know, I know, 7 years, right? It's hard to believe, but that's how long I've slacked off on my BtVS fics. I feel bad about it, I really do. I have chapters written that I never posted and that's not right. So, here I go, hoping to get my muse back and to finish these old fics. *crosses fingers* Feedback is the best medicine. ;)  
**A/N #2:** I'm so freaking nervous about posting again. I have to fix some of the new chapters for my different writing style, and take out/add some things, so, expect a week or more between chapters to be on the safe side.

* * *

They made pretty good time, all things considered; Spike's leg still had a hole in it, and Willow was still freaking out over burning a dozen or so vampires alive. Well, sort of alive. Ish.

Once they were far enough away from the Slayer's house, they sent the servant girl home.

Willow glanced down the dark street, lit only by gas lamps and shook her head. "We can't let her go on her own-"

"We can and we will." Spike took the girl's arm and gestured her down the street she'd told them led to her home. "Your safe now. Run home, don't look back." He pushed her away a little and she whimpered.

Her eyes stared down the street, lined in closed shops and pubs that were all-too open. "Please, milord, I'm frightened."

Willow felt her heart break a little at the tears threatening to spill from her huge eyes. "We can't just leave her, Spike." She saw the irritated roll of his eyes and knew the fight would be short and to the point, with her losing and them leaving without the girl in tow. And right now, though she felt bad about it, Willow couldn't really blame him.

They needed to get out of here, out of this time.

Pulling a stake from her skirts, she stepped forward, pressing it into the girl's hands. "Take this and use it if you have need. Straight in the heart." She tried to impress upon the girl the importance of her words, but she didn't think they'd reached her beyond the sound of her voice and them abandoning her.

The tears spilled over and she clutched the stake to her chest, darting quick glances over her shoulder as she backed away. "But I don't-"

"Run!"

Willow glared at Spike as the girl turned and ran, tripping on her skirts and stumbling a few times in her haste. Her shoes pounded down the sidewalk, the sound fading as Spike grabbed Willow's arm and pulled her in the opposite direction.

"She'll be safe... relatively safe anyway, from vampires."

Willow wasn't completely convinced. She felt bad for leaving her. She should've insisted they escort the girl home. The poor thing was frightened and terrorized.

But she wasn't in the best state of mind; her thoughts were scattered and a little freaksome from the night's events. Once again, she'd lost control of her powers, and herself, and done something horrible. It'd been in self-defense, yes, but for god's sakes, she'd set a bunch of vampires on fire, and not just because they needed to be eliminated, but to maximize their pain. To hurt them.

And that scared her.

What would happen if she got angry at Spike one night and turned her magick on him? Would she do that? Would she take a stake to his heart? Maybe rain fire down on his head just because he said something she didn't like?

Was that what she was destined to do?

Drawing in slow, deep breaths, she glanced his way. His limp was more pronounced and he was glaring at everything and nothing. His attention was focused on getting them back to the boarding house and getting them the hell out of Dodge. She was right there with him in that. But his injury was concerning.

He winced as his foot slipped and she felt his fingers tighten on her arm as if to hold himself up. He didn't loosen the grip right away, even after steadying himself and continuing at an even pace. Her concern turned to fondness for a moment, until she remembered the look in his eyes when he'd seen Drusilla. Her heart hurt a little.

She'd definitely been right about not getting too close to him. Apparently he still only had eyes for one woman.

Well, no, that wasn't completely true. He'd slept with her, and with Harmony. It was just his heart that belonged solely to Drusilla, the woman Willow had quite readily, and happily, bashed in the head with a piece of wood.

And it'd felt good too.

"Just about there," Spike told her unnecessarily, lips tightening in pain.

She looked up with an absent nod that turned into a deeper frown when she saw that they were still a mile away, maybe more. Maybe to him a mile was like a block. Just a hop, skip, and a jump away. "I am so ready to leave this time. Past ready even."

"Yeah," he muttered, stopping for a moment to lean against the side of a small, white building they were passing.

"Spike-" she began, about to ask him if he was okay. Seeing another frown, this one aimed at her, she reconsidered. "Can we rest for a second? I- I'm sort of tired." She chanced a look up at him as she leaned against the wall, not completely having to fake being winded.

He winced, lips twisting up, trying to hold in a groan. Her concern ratcheted up a few notches. What if he didn't have her super healing powers? What if he didn't have the- wait, of course he did. He was a vampire, they had super healing powers even without some spell backing them up.

Still, he was so pale, and while that was a normal thing for him, he was also panting heavily, which was definitely _not_ normal.

"I'm sorry," she told him softly, looking down at the nasty, bloody wound in his leg, feeling an uncomfortable rush of guilt. She was responsible for hurting him. She wanted to fix it, to take the pain away, but she was afraid to touch him, afraid of hurting him even more than he already was.

Afraid of losing control again.

Fire, burning, singeing, screaming vampires wailing in pain.

Shoving the fresh memories away, she let her breath out in a rush. Trying to balance everything, to fix things and be everything that she needed to be was tiring. Slowly, but surely, she was losing the fight to not become something she hated, something that killed for revenge, or set vampires on fire just to watch them burn.

She was so tired.

Watching him try to regain his own sort of control, she fluttered her hands around his leg. "Do you... do you want me to try to heal it?"

He tilted his head to the side, a puzzled look crossing his face, like he just couldn't figure her out. Like she was a complete mystery to him.

If she allowed herself to admit it, she liked that he wanted to figure her out. Liked that he cared enough to _want_ to do so. But maybe it wasn't caring, maybe she was just a puzzle that he wanted to solve. Or, maybe it meant that she wasn't just a body for him to slake his lust with.

Dangerous territory thinking that.

"No, I'm all right. Save it for the trip to 1880." He smiled just the slightest bit as he leaned his head back, closing his eyes briefly. A sigh slowly slipped past his lips, then, after a minute, he turned his head to the side and looked down at her. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, pushing away from the wall. He did the same, more slowly than her. His limp was becoming more pronounced, his face more drawn, his skin paler. He needed to feed. "You should... go. Eat, I mean." Her mouth went dry at the thought of him leaving her behind to hunt and kill. And at the thought of him killing. Was he killing?

"Not likely," he snorted, the scoff in his voice and on his face saying more than his words. He wasn't about to leave her alone.

Secretly, she was happy about that, but being the big bad Wiccan that she was, she insisted with a little more surety. He needed to feed. Needed to keep his strength up and heal. "Spike, go on. I can take care of myself, we both know that. Your leg knows that."

Straightening up in front of her, his tired eyes took in every scratch and scrape and bruise showing on her face and arms and chest. "Let's go. Angelus and Darla probably aren't far behind."

She let the subject go. For now. "Probably not," she agreed, slipping under his shoulder, catching a strong whiff of sulfur and other burned things. "Ugh, I think I may just bathe for a week straight to get this smell off of me."

"You should smell it from my end," he said, grinning wearily.

Hearing a sound behind them, she jerked her head around to look, relaxing a bit when nothing jumped out of the shadows. Still, she was jumpy and exhausted. They both were. Despite her brave words about taking care of herself, neither one of them would be able to defend themselves against an attack by- well, anything really. Not in the state they were in.

Which made her think about the servant girl again.

"Do you think she made it home okay?" She saw his sideways look and felt her heart sink a little. "Lie to me," she told him, glancing away briefly before returning her gaze to the sidewalk in front of them. "I think she was-"

"She wasn't raped."

"How do you know?" She straightening up slightly. What, did vampires have some kind of sex radar? Is that how he'd known that she'd almost been raped? She wasn't very comfortable with that.

Not at all.

He shrugged a little, sighing and shifting against her. His hand tightened on her shoulder, fingers tracing absently against her sleeve. "Didn't smell the- didn't smell them on her."

"Oh. That's... that's good then. Very good." Relief poured through her, though it was just a little thing in the bigger scope of things. She hoped the girl did get home safely, and hoped she wouldn't have too terrible a time with the aftermath of being terrorized by creatures that she now knew existed. "Huh. You and Oz have something in common."

Her mind, being a big annoying brainy thing, jumped to all the really private things that Spike could have smelled on her at any time, not the least of which were sweat, bad breath, and other not quite so mundane things.

Growing a bit uncomfortable at that thought, she cleared her throat. "Um, you know, just the fact that I have two-make that three-men in my life that can smell a person enough to track them... and, and, uh..." she dropped her eyes to the ground again and then glanced sideways at him. "So, when I'm..." she gestured with her hands as best she could, "you know, you... um, _know_?" Her face burned with embarrassment and shame, even though she knew it was a natural and inevitable part of a woman's life.

Yeah, blah, blah, blah, that was only true in women's empowerment books. In real life it was painful and annoying and something Spike really didn't need to know about. It was her body, not his.

He shrugged again. "Yeah, I know when it's your time of the month."

"Oh," she whispered, looking away, cheeks burning even hotter. "Could you try not to... you know, smell me during those times? I mean, is- is that a possibility? 'Cause it's really kind of personal. Not to mention gross."

Rolling his eyes, he straightened up, muttering, "Humans. It's not gross to me." Leading her away from the building they'd stopped at, he quickened their pace, lean a little less heavily on her. As they reached the end of the street, he looked over at her. "It's the sweetest perfume for a vampire."

Willow stared at him, trying not to let her disgust show, but she couldn't stop it for long. "That is seriously, seriously gross, Spike. I mean really nasty. And," she added primly, starting them moving again, "we shall never speak of it again."

Spike chuckled in her ear, his hand tightening around her shoulder.

* * *

********

* * *

They reached the park across from the boarding house a few minutes later. Once there, Spike stopped for a minute, his arm staying around her shoulders as he settled his back against a nearby tree trunk and drew in a few deep breaths. His trousers, which were soaked with blood, were crusting over, sticking to his wound.

Willow watched with a wince as he lifted the material away from his leg, peeling it off like a second skin. "Ow," she breathed in sympathy. "Is it healing at all? Like mine?" She wiped her hand against the bite Dru had added earlier that afternoon, showing him the half-healed mark. "Almost gone."

"No." He shook his head, eyes settling uncomfortably on her neck. His frown was replaced by longing, which was gone completely after a moment. "I haven't been healing well this trip. Remember the knife wound?"

Remember? she scoffed silently. No. No, she really didn't remember him biting her. Or scaring the living daylights out of her. She also didn't remember the few precious moments of pleasure he'd insisted could be present during a vampire's bite. Mostly though, she didn't remember how much she'd wanted so desperately to feel more than fear.

She didn't answer, just stared at him.

He nodded, sighing as he looked past her, squinting into the darkness. "Yeah, guess you'd- anyway, that knife wound took longer than normal to heal, remember?"

"Maybe it had something on the blade. Like magick?" Seeing his unconcerned shrug, she rolled her eyes. _He_ might not be worried, but she was. Something was keeping him from healing, and that was dangerous. And if it was a someone... that was just as dangerous, if not more so. "Who stabbed you?" she asked suddenly, hoping to catch him off guard, get him to spill the beans finally. "Anyone I know?"

He briefly dropped his gaze to the ground before pushing away from the tree, shaking his head as his eyes returned to her face. "No. Just a couple of plonkers." Taking his arm from her shoulders, he settled his hands on her waist, drawing her closer, until her chest was pressed up against his.

"What are you doing?" She glanced down, startled when she felt her leg pressing against his. "You're gonna hurt-"

He kissed her softly, halting her protests, hand settling lightly against her cheek. Again and again he pressed his lips gently to hers. There was such a sweet tenderness there that she wanted to cry and sink into him. This was why she couldn't do this with him, it was too easy to fall into feelings that would only leave her hurting. Even so, when he pulled back to rest his forehead against hers after a minute, she blinked rapidly, staring over his shoulder, fighting against disappointment.

And gratitude, because she hadn't been strong enough to pull away and insist on space.

"These time travel spells are, at best, unpredictable," he murmured, breath fanning against her mouth and cheeks, "I just wanted to do that one more time in case we don't see each other again for a few years."

She nodded in understanding. She wanted more than just a few kisses from him, and her heart rebelled at the idea of them being separated, but she'd already been over this in her head. No intimacy with Spike because it led to badness. He was her friend and she wanted him to stay that way, not lose him altogether.

Smiling past the sadness flowing through her at the thought of never knowing Spike's kiss again, never feeling his touch- it was hard, but she managed it. "Your confidence in me warms my heart," she whispered with a chuckle.

"You have no idea," he said enigmatically, then started out of the park, cool hand wrapped firmly in hers.


	19. Time Stitch 19

**Title:** Time Stitches You (19/?)  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing here except the plot. The characters and all things Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Twentieth Century, the Pope, and whoever else wants to claim them and actually receives royalties from them. That's not me, so... there ya go.  
**Pairing:** W/S  
**Rating:** R  
**Summary:** Spike uses Willow to go back in time to avoid being implanted by the Initiative. Has even one of Spike's plans ever gone right? They end up a little further back in time than he intended.  
**Dedicated:** To all the people who have read this story, who've given me feedback, and still bug me to this day to finish this and all my other unfinished fics. Thank you all so very much!  
**A/N:** I may be working on a few different fics at once, so, expect a week or more between chapters to be on the safe side. (including one old one that I never posted, but is nearly finished. Again, I'll be reworking the writing because of how much my style has changed)

* * *

Willow let her fingers linger on Spike's thigh longer than was necessary as she cleaned up the blood. The white cloth Christine had given her was mostly red now, staining her fingers. Her eyes followed the water as it ran down his leg, painting his skin pink as it dripped to the wooden table beneath him. It sluiced over the wound, showing a wider, deeper hole than she'd expected to find. She felt the solid muscle and bone beneath her fingertips.

Felt Spike shifting beneath her hands as she stood close beside him, cleaning his leg, the act more intimate than it should've been.

Good god, blood and wounds weren't turn ons for her. What was wrong with her?

Glancing at his face as he downed another swallow of whiskey, she wiped the area around the wound again, cleaning the blood free from his pale skin. There were still pieces of wood lodged inside the wound and she knew she'd have to remove them. Nausea roiled in her stomach, replacing the intimacy with disgust.

Picking little slivers of wood from a gaping hole in Spike's leg wasn't her idea of a fun topper to this day.

Sucking it up, since she was responsible for the wound being there in the first place, she grabbed the tweezers Christine had given her and hovered them over his leg.

Spike watched her for a few moments before finally gesturing to her hand. "Go on, then." His cigarette dangled from his lips, eyes settling on hers when she continued to hesitate. "Not like I can't take it, Willow. Vampire, remember?"

It was a good reminder, and one she needed, because the thought of causing him more pain made her chest hurt. He was a vampire. Evil and soulless, and- and... evil.

That never really worked anymore, hadn't for months. Years, if she wanted to get technical.

Flicking her eyes to his face once more, then back down to the wound, she drew in a breath and closed the tweezers over the biggest hunk of wood in the wound. "Ready?"

He nodded, resting his arm on his forehead, dangling his cigarette between his fingers. Smoke escaped his lips as he spoke, rising up and then billowing around him like a halo. "Been ready for a while now. Just waiting on you. Do it quickly."

Right. Like a bandage. She swallowed thickly, pulling lightly on the piece of wood. It moved, sliding along the raw skin. Bile rose in her throat.

This was good though, right? It meant that she wasn't really cut out to be evil, not if she couldn't stand hurting someone. Even though she'd been the one to actually hurt him in the first place. And had done so to Angelus, Dru, Darla, all the others.

The one who'd almost raped her.

Shoving those thoughts aside, concentrating solely on Spike, she planted her feet on the floor, braced herself, then yanked on the piece of wood.

A pained shout left him, smothered in his throat as he slammed his head back on the table. His free hand clenched the table edge with white knuckles. "Bloody fucking hell!" He sucked in a breath, then let it out in a rush when she hesitated. "Don't... don't stop."

Gasping out a loud, desperate breath, she pulled the wood all the way free, dropped it in the bowl beside him, then shook her whole body in disgust. "Ugh! Yuck!"

He chuckled darkly at her reaction and waved her on, drawing more smoke into his lungs with a shaking hand. Pain colored his eyes and tightened his lips.

That, and the remembered feel of the wood sliding free, made her shudder again. Instead of indulging the disgust, she forced herself to continue in order to get it over with as quickly as possible. Bending her head to the task, she blinked back the nausea and steadied her trembling hand.

Spike's fingers settled on hers briefly, holding her still. "It's okay," he insisted, voice thick with suppressed pain. His eyes were steady on hers, something dark and unreadable in them. Swallowing thickly, she wondered suddenly; did he want the pain over with quickly because it hurt so much? Or did he want her to keep going because he was enjoying the pain?

Vampire, he'd just reminded her not a minute before. And vampires enjoyed pain.

Oh, god, was this turning him on?

Shoving the thought aside with an addendum to return to it later, she grasped the piece of wood sticking out of the bloody wound, bracing for the feel of it sliding free. She watched his face, trying to gauge his reaction to the pain.

There was something in his eyes... something she didn't like, but couldn't look away from either.

As she pulled the sliver out, hiding her shudder at the feel of it sliding along his raw flesh, she saw him grit his teeth and suck in a deep breath, grunting once the piece was free. His eyes didn't waver from hers except to dip down to her mouth briefly, and she knew for certain.

The pain was turning him on.

Oh, god.

That wasn't something she'd ever allowed herself to consider, to think about, to know. She didn't want to know that Spike got off on pain. Didn't want to know that he liked it, and craved it, maybe needed it. There were more things she'd learned on this interminable trip through time than she'd ever wanted to know, and now all she wanted was to un-know them.

Un-know that Angel had raped- no. Angelus had done those things, not Angel. But she wasn't sure she could ever look at Angel the same way again. She'd never truly feel safe around him again, despite what she'd told Spike.

And Spike himself. He liked pain just like Angelus and Darla. He liked giving it. Hadn't he told her not too long ago that he'd tortured and killed people with railroad spikes, and that he'd enjoyed it?

He was enjoying this.

Had he raped anyone? She'd never allowed herself to think about it, and didn't want to now, especially after having slept with him. Because... because just thinking she knew the answer was making her chest tight and her eyes burn. Despair swept through her.

She wanted to hide from the knowledge.

Bending her head, concentrating on the task at hand, she dropped her eyes to the wound in his thigh and pushed aside _her_ feelings, and his feelings, and set about completing the task. But it wasn't that simple. The knowledge was still there.

She knew the answer as much as she knew her own name.

Guilt poured through her for allowing herself to care for him so much, for sleeping with him. For all the men and women he'd hurt over the past century or more. The people he'd killed since going back in time and being free to do so.

Had he raped anyone since then?

Angelus had warned her about the women Spike was feeding on in Galway and she'd naively asked Spike if he was sleeping with them too, but what she hadn't considered, hadn't allowed herself to consider, was that he might have been raping them. Forcing them to give him, not just their lives, but their bodies as well.

And now that those thoughts were there, she couldn't make them go away.

She slid another piece free roughly, her guilt ratcheting up a notch. He winced and frowned her way, though it only registered distantly.

Nausea rose in her; she'd slept with him knowing he was a killer.

But then, was she any better than him? She'd killed. She'd tortured. And, despite all her protests to the contrary, despite telling herself it wasn't true, she'd actually enjoyed hurting those vampires tonight. Enjoyed hurting Drusilla and Angelus and Darla.

And she'd done this to Spike. It was her fault he was injured. Her fault she cared. Her fault he was killing again.

Round and round it went.

Spike's lips stayed pressed tight and he went still, only letting out an occasional grunt or groan here and there as she worked. His eyes slid from hers once or twice, and she wondered if he knew her thoughts. Wondered if he could see the questions and pain and guilt on her face.

Or maybe he was angry with her for causing the injury. For injuring Dru. Had to be, right? She'd done it without thinking, just acted, hurting not just Dru, but everyone within reach. Including him. And no matter how much he might enjoy pain, nearly being killed by the debris flying around had to have angered him.

Well, she was angry at herself, too, and-

Christine bustled in as Willow pulled another piece out with a clumsy hand. She was carrying a handful of jars and ointments and a rag tossed over her shoulder. "I've got just about everything ready for the spell," she told them, gaze sweeping over Spike's leg with a business-like eye. "Make sure you get all the pieces out or it might not heal up right."

Willow nodded, biting her lip, keeping her hand steady. Grabbing the last sliver, she slipped it free and dropped the tweezers to the table with a clatter. Stepping back with a gasp, she desperately drew in air, choking for so many reasons. "Done. I'm s- sorry." Wiping her hands on the cloth Christine silently handed her, she turned away, not wanting to see the accusation or blame in Spike's gaze.

Not wanting him to see hers.

Staring at the jars and herbs on the shelves behind the table, she hurried over, picking out the ones she needed for an herbal, healing paste.

She heard him moving behind her and stiffened up, tossing a glance over her shoulder at him. He sat up, downing a swig of whiskey, then tossed his cigarette in the bowl of bloody water. His eyes met hers briefly before sliding away again. "Pain's mostly gone now."

Turning back to the jars and shelves and books, she tried to tamp down the panic surging through her.

This was why they couldn't be involved.

Losing Spike wasn't an option, not while they were traveling together through time. Not while she had feelings for him. Not while- grabbing the last jar she needed, she set them on the table and went to work, ignoring Spike and Christine.

Caring about Spike was one thing. Needing him was another. And she had no intention of letting it go that far.

What would Buffy and Xander think if they got back home and- _when_ they got back home. Not if. There was no if, only when. She wouldn't allow herself to think about that either. Shoving the two thoughts aside for another day, she sprinkled a little more ginger into the mixture and ground it up.

"Willow."

She didn't look at him, didn't need to. That tone was enough to alert her to the fact that he was about to ask her what was wrong or if she was all right. She really wasn't, so she didn't bother glancing his way. "Yeah?" Adding a small amount of water to the herbs, she ground it harder.

Instead of asking his questions as she'd expected, he sighed. "Can we just get to 1880 before you drown yourself in guilt?"

That was a laugh. Did he think she _wanted_ to feel this way? That she lived for blaming herself and seeing things the way they were? Or would be. As they would be when they returned to Sunnydale. Even if she got past his past, Buffy would never be okay with her and Spike. Xander would probably have a fit. And... Spike probably didn't want anything more than a body to slake his lust in anyway.

Would Xander and Buffy try to kill him?

Giles.

She sighed.

He'd probably send her all those disapproving looks she hated, the ones she'd seen on only a few occasions, and never wanted to see again.

But it was _her_ life. And Spike's. Not theirs.

What right did they have to-

"Stop it," Spike bit out, turning her around and taking her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. "Stop thinking whatever it is you're thinking." His thumb rubbed roughly over her forehead, as if smoothing out the frown lines there. "If this is blame, or guilt, or-"

"Let's just..." Wrapping her fingers around his hands, she freed her face from his grip and hastily dropped his hands. Scooping out a good amount of the paste, she darted her eyes to his then down again. "This'll probably hurt."

He was silent for a few moments, eyes watching hers as she avoided his gaze. His fingers grazed her waist before dropping his hands to his sides. They were idle only for a second before he grabbed the whiskey bottle again. "I'm sure it will," he agreed, breath leaving him in a scoff.


	20. Time Stitch 20

**Title:** Time Stitches You (20/?)  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing here except the plot. The characters and all things Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Twentieth Century, the Pope, and whoever else wants to claim them and actually receives royalties from them. That's not me, so... there ya go.  
**Pairing:** W/S  
**Rating:** R  
**Summary:** Spike uses Willow to go back in time to avoid being implanted by the Initiative. Has even one of Spike's plans ever gone right? They end up a little further back in time than he intended.  
**A/N:** Sorry about the delay, but the holidays got in my way. Hmph.  
**A/N 2:** I've been working on this chapter for years. No, literally, for years. The past two chapters were written years ago as well, but I had to change a lot on this one, and I'm extremely nervous about it. Please bear with me. I'm working without a beta and partially from memory on some things and will be going back and cleaning up older chapters because of 's bad formatting screwing them up.

* * *

Willow fell to the ground with an oomph, landing on something hard, and yet, soft as well. Whatever it was, it gave an answering oomph and she quickly jerked back, finding Spike beneath her. Dizziness rushed through her and she fisted his shirt and the grass beside him with tight fingers.

The wave of vertigo passed rather quickly and she was able to blink it away. Time hopping seemed to be getting easier.

"Ow," Spike groaned, lying back on the grass, resting his arms limply at his sides.

On her anyway.

She looked down at him critically. He looked dead, which was completely normal for him, of course.

Despite all of her feelings from before-all the revelations and fears-she smiled in relief. They'd ended up together. She'd been fearful that she'd be on her own again for who knew how long this time. "We made it. Together. Now I don't have to go to work in the steel mines."

He raised a dark eyebrow at her.

"Barmaid, steel worker..." She held her fingers up, half an inch apart. "I was _this_ close to choosing steel worker last time."

His brow rose a little higher.

Glancing around with a smirk, she felt Spike shift beneath her and realized she was still on him. Despite, or maybe because of, how soft and hard and familiar he felt under her, she quickly rolled off of him. "Sorry." Settling on the cool grass, hands fisted at her sides, she ran her eyes over his thigh, now encased in clean white breeches. "Did I hurt you?"

"Nothing I can't handle." He opened his eyes, staring at her, long and hard. "Let's not forget I'm a big boy, huh? Tough vampire and all who can handle pain." His eyes stayed on her intently, not blinking, not looking away. "A vampire who sometimes _likes_ pain."

Had he guessed her thoughts from earlier? Realized her realization? "Right." Was he warning her?

Sighing lightly, he stared up at the night sky. "I'm not going to apologize for what I am, Willow."

And she shouldn't expect him to. It wasn't his fault she'd thought him different from the rest of the vampires. Wasn't his fault she'd tricked herself into believing something that he'd never lied about. He'd been honest from the beginning, about that at least.

She'd just assumed because he was nice to her-mostly-that he wasn't as evil as he actually was.

And now wasn't really the time to be thinking about this. Not while lying on a soft hillside who knew where during who knew what time period, with who knew what lurking around. There'd be plenty of time to discuss it-if she chose to-when they were safe somewhere. Clearing her throat, she focused her gaze back on his injured thigh.

The smelly herbal paste she'd applied to it seemed to be working. At least his breeches were still clean. Still white. Not even speckled with blood.

She took in their surroundings once more. It was night, which was a plus, but other than that, she couldn't tell a thing about where they were.

Grass, trees, flowers... a park maybe? There were lights shining in the distance, not too far away, but not too terribly close either. A woman's shrill laugh sounded a ways off and Willow was positive the owner of that voice was as drunk as Thomas, the guy who'd frequented Joe's place nightly for as long as she could remember, drinking all night and regaling anyone within earshot with tales of highway robbery and pirates on the far off seas.

Returning her attention to the immediate vicinity, she noticed that their belongings, which were now in a nice little valise that Christine had given them, were a few yards away, resting in a bed of flowers. Irises, white peonies, and blue sweet Williams surrounded the case, their scent tickling her nose, along with softer, subtler smells of grass and trees. It was a little overwhelming, and she felt a sneeze coming on; once, twice, three times.

They always came in threes. Her dad used to tell her it was a good omen. She could only hope. They were due a little good luck, weren't they?

Other smells wafted toward her as well; roasting meat, rich, wonderful aromas of food. She'd had a light meal at Christine's before leaving, but her stomach still growled in response to the delicious smells.

Glancing at Spike, she expected to see him looking around as well, but he was still lying back on the grass, hands now laced behind his head. He sighed and reached out toward her, wrapping one of his hands around her upper arm, pulling her into a prone position beside him. All with his eyes closed. "Relax. You're always so bloody tense."

Instead of immediately sitting up again, as was her first impulse, she stayed where she was, taking a few deep, calming breaths of the cool night air, scooting just the tiniest bit away from him.

It was actually kind of pleasant here. Peaceful.

He was right; since this whole adventure had started, she'd been overly tense. More so since the jump to Dru's time with no Spike around, being trapped in the past, the near-rape, Angelus, Dru, Darla- all of it, and... well, she was tense. Definitely tense, but who wouldn't be, and how the hell was she supposed to relax now?

They didn't know where they were and relaxing and letting go of everything for a few minutes seemed like the absolute worst thing to do.

Blinking up at the stars in the night sky, she felt an overwhelming exhaustion sweep over her. She needed to do something or she'd be torn to pieces by the stress and the constant anxiety and fear. Maybe it was time to let go. In light of her earlier thoughts, maybe she just needed to stop stressing over every little thing. To just... let things happen and not lose control again.

If she didn't stop freaking out over everything, she'd end up with a couple of bleeding ulcers for her troubles, and possibly a lot of dead demons and vampires. Maybe even humans.

Another deep breath left Spike. "I said relax, love. I know you can do it... I've felt it while you were sleeping. How about you try it while awake for a change?" He turned his head sideways, watching her, dark eyes taking in the tightness of her mouth, and the way her own eyes wouldn't settle on him for more than a few seconds.

Guilt.

She felt it, and felt she needed to feel it in order to keep him at a distance, because, despite knowing what she thought she knew about him now, her traitorous mind and body didn't care. She still wanted to be near him, to touch him, and talk with him, and... and she'd need to keep her distance if she was going to retain her sanity.

And if they were going to get through the next few weeks or months.

God, she hoped it wasn't years.

Sitting up, she drew her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "It's nice here," she ventured, hearing the tension in her voice and knowing he did too.

He sat up beside her, eyes fixed intently on her. She didn't like it. It felt like he was figuring her out, deciphering her thoughts and feelings. Like he knew her better than she knew herself, and though she'd thought it nice that he wanted to know her more, to figure her out, now it was just too much.

Uncomfortable with his scrutiny, she dropped her eyes to the ground. "What?"

A distant voice sounded off to her left and she snapped her head around. There were people far off, but she still couldn't see them.

Spike turned away with a shake of his head. "We should find somewhere to stay. I don't feel like a deep suntan when the sun rises."

Why did he always have to be so secretive about everything? He gave her enigmatic looks, watched her all the time, did things he refused to tell her about, fought mysterious vampires without even mentioning it to her...

Not that she could talk. She was keeping a few secrets herself these days.

"Yeah," she agreed, sighing heavily as she stood up. "We bloody well should, shouldn't we?"

A small smile lit his lips, but smoothed out again after a few seconds. Shaking his head, he stood up, looking around as he brushed off his breeches before going still and staring around them somewhat cautiously. "We're at Lord Harshnell's estate."

Willow looked around curiously. Was this a place the human Spike had known? There were more voices on the left, but, though there seemed to be a lot of people around, there was no one that she could see. There was music too, if she wasn't mistaken, drifting toward them on a soft breeze along with all those heavenly aromas. "Do you know this place?"

"Yeah." He nodded toward their valise, lying amongst the crushed flowers in the garden. "Spent a lot of time there."

Well, that was... surprising. "You spent a lot of time in a garden? Hello, evil man before you were an evil vampire. How does that translate into being in a garden enough to recognize it?" Scoffing, she brushed off her damp skirts, which were most likely grass stained now, and headed down the sloped hill to their things. "Did ya bury bodies in there?" Stopping as she realized who she was talking to, she looked back at him. "Oh, god, you didn't, did you?"

He laughed, his rich voice sending shivers down her spine. The warm look in his eyes heated her blood and she shuddered. Or was that a shiver? "No bodies." He moved past her, brushing against her as he went. "Just a lot of emotions."

"Wait a minute," she called out, picking up the suitcase and hurrying after him. She shoved the heavy, cumbersome valise into his hands, walking beside him quietly, wondering if she wanted to know this as well. She'd had a lot of revelations tonight, and sometime soon she'd need to sort them out, but right now, did she want to know more about him? Did she have the right to pick and choose what she wanted to know?

Was that fair?

But then she couldn't stop herself. "You had emotions? Other than kill, death, die, I mean. 'Cause, we all heard-"

"Yeah, I had emotions." He lengthened his stride, forcing her to jog to keep up with him. Wasn't he supposed to be the injured one? "Used to be human, you know."

"I know. It's just that..." she gave him an apologetic shrug, and felt the world tip out from under her for a brief second. Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and fought the exhaustion still trying to swamp her. The dizziness passed after a second and she drew in a deep breath, catching up with him again and tossing him a quick glance. "When you first came to Sunnydale, Giles read in the Watcher's Diary that you were evil as a human. That you were called William the Bloody before being turned."

He nodded absently, his eyes on the shimmering lights in the distance. "I was. But not because I was evil." He stopped, turning to her with a short, abrupt laugh. "You're gonna find out anyway, might as well tell you myself."

She frowned, afraid he was about to admit to something horrible. Something he was ashamed of even as a vampire. And she suddenly realized that she _didn't_ want to know. She didn't want to carry the extra weight of knowing that he'd-

"I was a pathetic poet, a wannabe bard. Mooned around moping over everything, thinking I had all these really deep thoughts."

Willow blinked at him a few times, then opened her mouth uselessly. Then closed it. Wait, what? He'd been a poet? "Like the Jack Handy of poetry?"

He exhaled, staring off into the sky. "Not sure what that means. Look, I wrote poetry, did the lovesick thing and all that. I was quite the... gentleman. Only without a title." His gaze returned to her face, mouth tightening slightly, jaw working from side to side, and she thought she saw him holding back laughter.

Smacking him on the arm, relieved it wasn't some horrible human life he'd led that she'd have to tack onto the end of a long line of reasons not to get too close to him, she chuckled, starting off down the grassy hill again. "That's funny."

A loud snort escaped him as he turned away and left her behind, his long strides eating up the ground.

Staring at his back, she frowned. Was he being serious? Had he really been a poet? A lovesick, poetry-writing gentleman? But... the Watcher's Diaries, they'd all said he was evil. Hadn't they? Well, they'd certainly mentioned him being William the Bloody before becoming a vampire, and she'd always assumed that meant he was a horrible, evil person. They all had.

_I walk in worlds others can't begin to imagine._

She remembered his words from that night, long ago, in her room at the pub. When everything was slightly less sucky than now. When Sam and Joe were still alive.

It had to be hard for him to admit if he was serious. A poetry-writing moodster. Wow.

Walking slowly behind him, lost in thought, her ears picked up more voices and louder laughter. They faded in and out a couple of times, sounding like someone was turning the volume up and down. It wasn't until they slowed down before speeding back up to normal and she felt the dizziness return that she started to realize it was her ears that were making everything sound funny. Was something wrong with her? She did feel tired and slow, like she was plodding through quicksand thickened with molasses.

Maybe she was getting sick. Or was it something else?

Everything returned to normal with a blare of sound, startling Willow. The exhaustion returned, stronger this time, but she brushed it away, not wanting to deal with all of this right now. She was just tired and a little tapped out. That was all.

Glancing around, she realized they'd walked quite a bit further than she'd noticed in the time she'd been out of it. She looked up, finding herself on the grounds of a lush estate. To her left was a winding path of gravel, dotted by moonlight and shadows. A few couples of well-dressed men and women strolled toward them along the winding path, talking and laughing gaily. A trio of young women, their noses turned up at the sight of her, strode past, not gracing her with more than the one sour look.

She frowned down at her gown foggily, not seeing a thing wrong with the dark green material. Certainly they couldn't see any grass stains in the near-darkness? The cut looked similar to the other women's gowns, so what the hell? Smoothing a hand absently down her hair, which Christine had helped her work into a chignon before they left, she tucked a few stray strands behind her ear.

Nothing wrong there either.

She glanced up ahead at Spike, who was walking a yard or so in front of her, still carrying the valise.

"William," she called softly, trying to gain his attention without calling anymore to herself. Picking her skirts up in both hands, careful not to expose any ankle, she ran to catch up to him. Once back by his side, she dropped her skirts and smoothed them out, shaking her head, irritated with having to constantly be cautious about what was exposed and what wasn't. "It's ridiculous that showing a little ankle can be so scandalous."

Spike continued walking, barely even glancing in her direction. She heard him draw in a breath once, and his limp returned for a few steps, but other than that, he could've been a robot.

After walking for what felt like a block, not seeing anyone else, and listening only to the crunch of their steps on the gravel path, she sighed and stepped in front of him. "Look, I'm- I'm sorry, okay? I thought you were kidding." She slid her eyes shut, shaking her head in self-deprecation. "That's not an excuse, I know. It was rude. I was rude. And mean, and if I'd thought for a moment you were being serious..." she opened her eyes, dipping her head down to force him to look at her, "I never would've laughed. Ever."

He stared at her for a few seconds before brushing past her, intent on the journey ahead. "Doesn't matter."

She grabbed his arm, halting him a few feet away, once again moving in front of him and blocking his path. "Hello," she said, pointing at her chest, "high school nerd, remember? Star of the geek squad? Ringing any bells?"

"Oh," he half-laughed, half-snarled, "is that supposed to make it better? I've been laughed at by a nerd? A geek?" His sarcasm was strong, his derision even stronger. "Well, all better now, thanks."

A couple skirted by them quickly, their steps on the graveled path crunching loudly in the sudden quiet between them.

Willow snorted after they were out of earshot and crossed her arms over her chest. "Please! You know damn well what I'm talking about, Spike. I was the girl in school that everyone picked on. I know what's it's like to be laughed at, and, and made fun of." She tilted her head to the side, eyes narrowing, ignoring the lightheaded feeling rushing through her, making her vision a little sparkly. "By your blonde bimbo girlfriend even. So, no, I would never purposely make fun of you."

_His_ eyes narrowed as well, then suddenly closed as a sigh escaped him. Shoulders lifting in a shrug, he pushed his hand through his hair. "Yeah. Guess you wouldn't at that."

She shrugged as well, dropping her defensive posture. "My bad." Frowning, she stared over his shoulder, deep into the middle distance, trying to remember something she'd read. "Ooo, I just thought of something. The Watcher's Diary said you were, well, I think it said you were almost as old as Angelus. Do you think this is the reason the dates don't match up? Because of us?" She gestured around them, to the estate they were standing on, a small bit of excitement pulsing in her. "All this traveling through time, someone must have seen you... Laura's watcher could've- oh, I am so checking that out when we get back home."

Changing the valise to his other hand and taking hers with his free hand, he pulled her with him. His hand was damp from holding the handle of the suitcase. Warm. He felt human. Or it could've been from the blood he'd downed just before she did the spell that brought them here. She'd done a lot of spells lately.

Maybe too many.

"Don't really care just now," he sighed, pulling her along beside him. "What I do care about is getting safely inside somewhere before the sun decides to come up."

She waved her free hand to the side, indicating their surroundings. "What about this Lord Harshnell guy? Apparently this place is a freaking mansion. This yard alone is as big as Sunnydale." She glanced at him curiously. "Was he a friend of yours?"

"Oh, bloody hell, no. He was a fat bastard who slept all day and sat around all night passing judgment on others." He chuckled darkly, his hand tightening uncomfortably on hers. "Thought he was better'n everybody else. Lorded it over all the lesser folk. Knew quite a few people like that."

"Sounds like a prince among men," she said, prying Spike's fingers from around her hand. "And also, ow."

Spike's fingers loosened, but didn't let go of her. He ducked under a low-hanging tree branch, passing by a lantern that was set up by the side of the path. There were more of them up ahead, every few yards, staggered on either side of the path, swaying in her vision.

Apparently they were reaching civilization.

"Hey!" Spike shouted, yanking on her hand. She stumbled forward, wondering what the hell she'd done now, and tried to catch her balance, but a hard body smacked into hers, knocking her to the ground. Nausea. Oh, god. Feet going out from under her, she fell backward, landing on her ass, just barely catching herself with her hands. Someone fell on top of her, then quickly rolled off and onto the grass beside her.

Dizziness and nausea and blurred vision, oh, my.

And then it passed again.

She felt small, sharp rocks poking and biting into the flesh of her hands. Not just her hands though, oh, no, that wouldn't make this day complete. Her _ass_ was now being viciously attacked by tiny, little pieces of rock, too.

The man got up on his knees beside her- he could do that since he was on the grass and not on tiny little projectile pieces of granite. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry," he exclaimed, sounding horrified.

Dusting her hands off, she sighed. "Don't worry about it." This was a near-perfect ending for the day that didn't want to end. She felt like she'd been awake for a week, running around, killing things, healing Spike, and walking nonstop. Weariness rushed through her, and this time it stayed.

Spike dropped the valise to the ground and started to kneel beside her, but she quickly stopped him.

"Your leg," she reminded him. "And, look," she said, showing her hands to him and the rude man who- whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. She'd been expecting- and, well, she was actually looking forward to it, but not this soon. Serious whoa-ness.

It was like one of those Doublemint commercials. Double her pleasure, double her fun. She was going to hell for that thought, but there was still a little drool factor going on in her mouth as images of Spike and her and this man entered her mind and didn't want to leave.

Spike frowned at her, then at the man on his knees beside her. She saw him close his eyes and throw his head back in frustration, mouthing a few curse words under his breath.

She was sure there was a bloody hell in there somewhere.

The human-human!-William patted the ground around him, squinting in the meager moonlight. "I'm terribly, terribly sorry, my lady, there's no excuse for my clumsiness." He frowned at the ground, resembling Spike so much that she could only stare at him dumbly. He was flushing deeply, looking around him miserably. "I seem to have lost my spectacles. I wonder if you could trouble yourself to help me find them?"

Slightly panicked, Willow looked for his glasses, thanking god he wasn't gifted with perfect sight. Who knew what would happen if William saw his exact duplicate-his doppelganger-standing before him. Whatever it was, surely it wouldn't be good.

Spike shoved his foot behind him and she spotted a telltale glare in the grass beside him.

"Oh, dear. I can't seem to find them either," she lied, making a show of patting the ground all around her, not knowing how bad his sight was, or how much he could, and couldn't, see.

Spike held his hand out to her again to help her up and she took it this time, not anticipating him jerking her up so roughly. She did a little hop and frowned.

"Thank you, William," she bit out without thinking, then wanted to kick herself for her stupidity. Brushing her skirts off, she looked down at the human William, hands halting when he looked up at them.

The likeness was uncanny.

"Again," he climbed gracefully to his feet, "I apologize." Dusting his hands off, he offered one to Spike.

Spike took a quick step backward and stared at the hand before him in horror. "No harm done, mate." His face said otherwise. "Come on, dear. We should be going."

William dropped his hand with a small sigh.

He had really beautiful, wavy, light brown hair that was swept back from his face, framing it just perfectly, softening his cheekbones. But it was his eyes, which were a bright blue-ish gray color, even in the low light of the lanterns and the full moon hanging overhead, that grabbed her attention.

They were clear and bright, readable. He wasn't hiding his feelings from her like Spike always did. Wasn't pretending.

And she realized that this man, this human, was going to turn into the demon beside her. He'd claw his way out of his grave, and then learn to hunt and feed, to kill and torture. He'd take pleasure in it. And though it hurt to think of that happening to this gentle man, it was also reassuring. Spike was nothing like Angelus, and he didn't even have a _soul_. He'd always seemed mellower to her, even when he was trying to kill her.

He'd talked to her like an equal, not like a meal, when he came to her dorm room. There'd been a ton of fear, yes, definitely fear. But there'd also been a little comfort on both sides. And the time before that, too. She'd actually felt sorry for him. For what Drusilla had done to him. Maybe that was stupid, maybe it'd get her killed one day, or maybe she was being naïve again, but... Spike wasn't like all the other vampires she'd known.

Over four years, she'd met and been threatened by a lot of vampires, and that was before their trip through time.

Now, years later, she knew evil. She'd even become it for a bit.

Yes, Spike was a demon and he was evil, but he seemed to care about her. He was protective of her as well. Was that evil? And, here was William, the man Spike used to be, and all she could think was that he was a good balance to the demon he was to become.

He was nearly identical to Spike, yet she could tell the difference between them easily enough. Spike wasn't this soft and innocent. There was a hard edge to him that William lacked with his shy smile and uncertainty. He was friendly and handsome, his lips inviting a person to look at them. Spike's smile was more often cynical and bitter, his lips inviting a person to want to smack him.

Or touch him and kiss him.

She let out a quiet sigh, thinking she could so easily fall for this man like she had for- could have for Spike.

Her vision began to fade again and she absently reached out for something to hold on to, but both Spike and William were too far away from her. Neither were a good prospect just now anyway, she'd be better off without.

Darkness faded in and out, then brightened to a pinprick. Oh. Something was most definitely wrong with her, but she couldn't deal with it now. It'd have to wait until they were alone because she was beginning to think it was from using too much magick recently. She'd used a hell of a lot in the past few days.

She swayed a little as Spike glanced down the path, toward their freedom.

William frowned, looking concerned as he reached out to her. His hand was soft and comforting, grounding. "Are you hurt, my lady?" he asked, voice low and deep, his British accent slightly more pronounced than Giles'. His eyes swept over her briefly, unfocused without his glasses.

Spike nudged her arm and she shook herself. "Uh, no," she finally stammered. "I'm- I'm unharmed, thank you." She rolled her eyes at her stilted answer, trying to force herself back into her 'genteel English lady' persona.

Both Williams were looking at her. The human one with a kind, but distracted quality. Spike with a... well, he was frowning and possibly annoyed.

The human William brushed off his tan breeches and frock coat almost as an afterthought and she wondered if he had any idea how handsome he was. Probably not. It'd take the demon to realize that.

Spike took her hand, startling her into looking his way. His eyes were distant, his mouth twisted into one of those cynical smiles. "Wife's just fine. Aren't you?" In a lowered voice, just by her ear, he whispered, "You mind not ogling him?"

"Sorry." She winced and tightened her fingers around Spike's hand, raising her voice back to normal. "I'm fine," she said slowly, realizing she really was fine for the moment. "Just a bit startled is all."

William smiled in understanding, nodding his head a little and clasping his hands behind his back. "You seem rather familiar," he said softly, switching his gaze from Willow to Spike. "May I ask your name, sir?"

Spike shifted his weight off of his hurt leg and cleared his throat.

Concern shot through her when she saw how disconcerted he looked. "You okay?" she asked softly, leaning toward him a bit to keep their conversation between them. Her eyes drifted down to his leg; still blood-free.

"Fine," he told her equally as softly, then turned his attention to William. "I'm William, uh," he looked around, in a slight panic, and then cleared his throat again, "uh, R- Rose." His voice, after his little falter, was steady and even, with no inflection in it, and she knew he was trying to keep himself from noticing he was talking to... himself.

Willow smirked a little at that, and at the fact that he'd just used part of her name for his own.

The human William's brows dipped down sharply when Spike spoke, while Spike's shot up, almost in surprise. She wondered what that was about.

"Ah," William said after a moment, bowing slightly in their general direction. "I am William as well. William-"

"Yeah, nice to meet you and all, but we've got to go." Staring at William a moment longer, Spike shook his head with a slow frown. Grabbing Willow's arm, he dragged her along with him, further down the path, away from himself.

"Ah. I see... yes, uh, good- goodbye," she heard William call after them hastily and she turned with a quick wave in his direction, realized he probably couldn't see it and jerked free of Spike's grip.

"We can't just leave you- him there." She ran back and picked up his wire-rimmed glasses. "I've found your spectacles." Handing them to him, feeling his warm skin brush hers, she closed her eyes for a second. Feeling warm skin when Spike touched her was... odd, but in a good way.

"Thank you," William enthused, quickly putting the glasses on. He blinked at her a few times, but she was already turning away, joining Spike in the shadows of the path.

Spike grabbed her hand again and drew her with him away from his human self.

Stumbling a few times at the pace he set, she kept quiet until they were far enough away not to be overheard, then leaned toward him, staring over her shoulder at William. "Wow," she mumbled. "That was odd. How old is he? I mean, are we close? We don't have to wait too long, do we?"

"No." He glanced back as well, watching William stare after them before turning and heading toward the garden they'd just left. "Not too long."

They reached the house proper a minute later, and Willow was panting by then, feeling weaker and weaker. Her body wasn't responding as she was used to and it was difficult to keep her thoughts completely straight. Definitely an overuse of magick. She'd need to get somewhere quick so that she could sleep and recharge. "Hey, what's the rush?" she gasped, rolling her eyes at the irony of needing to hurry, but not being able to because her body was being slow. She pulled her arm free of Spike's and shortened her strides.

Spike's brow lifted her way.

"Yeah, I get it; doppelganger. Bad badness if there are two of you. But could you just slow down a little?" She refused to run after him again. He could wait for her, damn it. Otherwise, he'd have to pick her up off the ground after she collapsed into a puddle of exhaustion.

They rounded a stand of trees and were suddenly on a large patio in back of a mansion. She heard low conversations and laughter all around them. The lights were brighter here. Dancing golden light flowed from the doorways, broken by the occasional person walking past. She had to cover her eyes from the piercing glow. The aroma of fresh fruits, cooked meats, and sweet wine wafted their way, making her stomach turn as music drifted through the open doors, soothing her ears with soft, melodic sounds.

She bumped into someone, barely seeing her as she blinked back a sudden wave of nausea.

"Excuse me," she mumbled, trying to shake off the dizziness washing over her.

The sounds grew muffled again and something ate at her. Something deep and dark and pulsing in her veins. She fought the feelings as the people milling about her and Spike turned to stare.

Talking in hushed tones.

Watching her, judging her.

A sharp laugh sounded behind her and she tensed up. The man was laughing at _her_. Was it Spike?

She glanced behind her, seeing a couple of women, lightly laughing, passing by her to go back into the house. Not them. "Spike?" Where was he? Was he leaving her alone here? "Where are you?" Anger rose in her. She could feel it battering at her, gnawing on her insides, and she wanted to get somewhere soon, somewhere where she wouldn't cause a scene.

Somewhere where she couldn't hurt anyone.

Shaking her head to clear it, she stared at Spike, seeing distaste and a sneer on his lips. "Can't you do anything? Come on!"

She followed after him with a frown. Why was he looking at her like that, talking to her like that? Sharp pain pierced her side and she doubled over with a gasp. The pain fueled her, driving the ire higher and higher. "I'd love to get out of here," she snarled, eyeing his retreating back, feeling rage writhe in her. "Anything to be able to get away from you." She could so easily hurt him. A little flick of her wrist here... a tap of a stake there.

No.

No, that wasn't right. That wasn't her. Her magick was tapped out and her excessive use of her powers was causing these... feelings, right? That was it. That was what it was. It had to be.

"I said come on." Spike took her hand, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but there with her. And it hurt. Seeing his true feelings, his real feelings, it hurt to know. "You're useless, you know that?"

"Go to hell," she bit out, glaring at him. "Like you're so perfect." She leaned forward, spitting out her words, aiming to hurt him as much as he'd hurt her. "I never wanted you. I was just taking pity on you. It was a pity fuck," she laughed, amusement bubbling up inside her to mix with the rage. "Never wanted you at all."

He stared at her for a good long while before turning and heading to the right, following the huge brick mansion around to the side. Back here, the darkness was broken only by rectangles of light stretching from the high windows.

He was leaving her behind.

Of course he was, she was being horrible to him. Why wouldn't he want to leave her?

No, she was being truthful. He was the one hurting her.

It was hard to make herself follow him, but she saw no other way out of there and the people were talking too loudly. Their voices rose and their footsteps thumped on the patio stones. They were whispering about her. About how Spike didn't want her. They were watching her, laughing to her face. Spike didn't care for her, it was obvious in the way he cringed from her and snarled her name.

"Fuck. You." Her whispered words reached Spike's ears, if no one else's. They were all talking so loudly they probably couldn't hear her anyway. They were intent on staring and following her, chasing her from the yard.

She had a moment of lucidity when she thought something was wrong, but it was only a moment, gone before it fully formed.

"I hate the way you feel," Spike called over his shoulder. "Your touch makes me feel like worms are crawling under my skin."

She shook her head, seeing his face turn sharply toward her and then away again. It jerked so quickly from side to side, like he was having a seizure, but his body wasn't reacting, and then it stopped and he was turned away from her. Nausea swept through her. Biting it back, feeling like she wanted to run, she pushed past the small crowd of men hunched over, talking in low, excited tones. She could hear dice being shaken and thrown against the side of the house to click onto the stone path. Shouts of disappointment and excitement rang out along with laughter and goading.

"Who are you?" she whispered, trying to see them in the darkness. They were just black shapes moving against the inky blackness.

"Servants of the demons, of course. Damned like you are."

Snapping her head up, she stared at Spike's back. "Demons." He pulled her along, not letting go, tightening his grip in an unnecessarily cruel grip. "There are demons here. We should kill them!"

He shook his head and held his finger to his lips, dragging her faster.

The group of men spotted them and went quiet, hurriedly shoving blurry items into their jacket pockets and under their legs. Their hushed whispering quieted to complete silence as she and Spike went past.

And then, as they emerged onto the front lawn filled with carriages and people arriving and departing, everything snapped back into focus. Into reality.

"Whoa."

Spike raised a brow at her and remained silent.

"I'm sorry. I think-"

...for a whole ten seconds. "Let's just get out of here." There was a tic in his jaw as he ground his teeth together. She didn't blame him in the least. She felt guilty and ashamed and wanted to tell him that, but he shook his head with a warning look.

Now wasn't the time.

They needed to get somewhere safe first, then she could have her freak out. "Since- since that was you-human you-back there, I'm assuming we're in London." She glanced around at the vehicles clogging the estate grounds, hoping like hell that there was somewhere with a bed close by, because she was fading fast and she really didn't want that anger to rise in her again.

Didn't want to lash out at Spike again.

"Yeah, we're in London," he said, pulling a cigarette out and slipping it between his lips. He shook his Zippo a few times then tried to light it. It sparked, but didn't work.

"We need to get a hansom cab," she said, absently flicking her finger at the tip of his cigarette. "Hang on, did you really say there were demons here? Should we... you know?"

"Oi!"

She turned to see the tip of his cigarette flare up with a bright orange flame.

He dropped the cigarette and valise in alarm, patting his slightly singed hand with a dark look aimed her way. "Keep the bloody mojo to yourself, huh? I don't fancy going up in flames. Haven't I mentioned that a few times tonight?" His eyes shifted from the ground to her face, muscle jerking tighter in his jaw. "And you don't need to be using now, not in your condition."

"I'm sorry." She hadn't even realized what she was doing. She'd just done it, with no thought behind it. Again. Was she going to lose control again and light people-demons-on fire? Injure Spike because he happened to be nearby? She squirmed under his frown, imagining something dark and cold swirling in her, just beneath the surface, struggling to take over.

No, she didn't have enough mojo _in_ her to do that much damage, just enough to over-light his cigarette, apparently, because she was pretty sure she was now completely tapped out. "Just trying to do you a favor," she muttered, feeling a surge of resentment rise in her, aimed directly at Spike. Wild-eyed, full-fledged, unexplained resentment followed by anger. She fought it hard. "You could thank me instead of whinging."

Not hard enough.

"Highly unlikely."

It began to pass, leaving her exhausted. She watched the flame of his cigarette fade out, lying on the ground, slowly burning away. Was that what was going to happen to her? Not a quick loss of control, but a slow burn?

Spike sighed, looking down at her, face in shadow. "No harm done. This time."

No, not this time, though she could feel it rising in her again and that scared her more than Angelus. "I wasn't thinking. I just... did it." She shrugged, staring off down the street when a carriage careened past. "I need to get out of here."

He nodded, then bent down to pick up the cigarette, slipping it between his lips as he straightened up. A trail of smoke rose high up into the air as he bent down again, this time for the valise. "Let's get a cab before you light more than my hand on fire." He looked around them, then nodded toward the street, waiting for her to pass before following behind her.


	21. Time Stitch 21

**Rating:** Teen...ish  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  
**Author's Notes:** I'm sorry this chapter is late. I've been debating over this chapter for a while, whether to include it at all or not. It's a lot of introspection, but I felt the story needed these thoughts and insights into Spike's state of mind since he and Willow are now in his time period, the fact that it's been so long with regard to his POV in chapters, and the how long it's been between my latest updates and the old ones. Eeek. Years.

* * *

Moonlight washed the night-covered streets in a pale glow, piercing the smog-enshrouded city with beams of yellow light. It flickered through the small rectangular window of the carriage, washing Willow's body in a sickly yellow glow as she slept.

Sleep being a generous term. More like... lying unconscious against Spike.

He should've seen it coming; she'd used a lot of magick lately, but it'd only become obvious to him once they started around that bastard Harshnell's house. And by then it was too late to help her. She'd begun to draw on anything around her that could feed her magick, and there'd been a nice, plump, juicy warlock nearby. Spike had smelt him as soon as they reached the house proper. Tasted his magick.

Apparently, so had Willow.

She'd sapped so much in such a little time that it'd overwhelmed her, taken her over so much that she'd gained quite a bit of a furious leaning toward the end of their trip to the front of the house.

'Quite a bit' being a generous term.

Shifting the weight of her body a little, Spike stared down at the innocent face that'd been twisted in fury such a short time ago. His anger had dissipated back at the house. It wasn't her fault. Not completely. Maybe there'd been some things in there that she actually _had_ meant, but mostly it was the magick making her talk that way.

Making her hear things and see things.

Had she heard him talking to her, telling her to stay calm until they got somewhere private? Or had she been beyond that? Most likely she hadn't heard a thing he'd said, or had heard something entirely different. He knew what stealing magick could do to a person. He'd seen it once before.

Slipping his hand under her shoulder to keep her from falling, he dug a cigarette out of his cloak pocket. He'd turned down the lantern inside the carriage as low as it could go without putting it out completely in order to light his cigarettes now that his lighter was dead again.

Willow hadn't needed it to see by since she'd collapsed heavily against his side almost as soon as they'd got inside.

He pushed her back as he leaned forward, lifting the glass globe around the lantern hanging from a hook by the window, lighting his cigarette.

Smoke filled the interior as he replaced the globe with a soft clink.

He settled back against the leather seat, leaning his head back with a sigh as he closed his eyes and let his mind wander. With all the magick she'd thieved off of the warlock it was a wonder she was able to let it go long enough to pass out. His hand absently settled her more comfortably against him, smoothing her hair from her face. He relaxed a little more when she did.

He was tired.

Tired of traveling through time, tired of fighting with Willow. Tired of having to step carefully in everything he did. He knew Willow had come to a startling realization-well, startling for her-while cleaning his leg wound. He'd seen the sudden panic on her face. Was it the fact that he liked pain, or was there more to it than that?

Probably the pain thing, though he wasn't sure why that bothered her; plenty of humans enjoyed pain too. Some more than demons.

Shifting her higher in his arms, he opened the carriage window and shoved the shade out of the way.

That still didn't explain why she'd been keeping her distance from him since they'd slept together. He was frustrated and angry and annoyed with the whole situation. Did she just not care at all?

Things were just so bollixed up now that he felt like a rock-filled puppet on a string, being forced to walk over a path of eggshells and glass.

Glancing down at her, shadowed in the interior of the carriage, he saw the faded bruises on her face. He slid his hand gently down the yellowed flesh, rubbing his thumb along her lower lip in a moment of weakness. He shouldn't be touching her. Not like this. Not after her little breakdown.

She shifted on the seat beside him, not waking, but still not asleep in the strictest sense. Her body moved gently against him as the vehicle rocked its way along.

He held her lightly, watching for signs of distress, though if she had a nightmare, he knew he couldn't wake her until her body was replenished with her own magick. Hopefully the nightmares would give her a rest for the night. She had them so often that he expected them more than not and-

He scoffed at himself for being such a pansy.

Willow had treated him like a piece of meat, refused to tell him why suddenly, in the middle of sex she couldn't bring herself to even look at him anymore, and then she'd gone ballistic on him and his ex. Yet, he still cared for her. Still wanted her.

He flicked his cigarette over his knee, dropping ashes to the floor.

Still craved her.

All the snarling, angry words she'd tossed at him hadn't mattered a bit. It went with the territory when dealing with her condition. So, why then, did he crave alcohol almost as much as he craved her?

All right, maybe he was a little sore at her, but it didn't go much deeper than that.

Once they got to the inn, he'd drink alcohol. Lots of alcohol. And maybe get a separate room. Being with Willow at night and not being able to do anything about it again was going to kill him. There was no way he could spend the night with her wrapped around him after having had her once. She was too tasty a treat to resist in so many different ways.

And he'd discovered something back at Christine's place. Watching Willow fix his leg, seeing the care she'd taken not to hurt him, the tenderness and worry on her face as she wiped the blood away; he was starting to care for her more than he should.

Letting his breath out in a sigh, he tightened his arms around her.

She was important to him. The sex had been more than just sex and that hadn't happened in a long time, certainly not with Harmony.

He cared about Willow more than he should care for anyone but Dru; the love of his death as well as the death of his life. Dru was what used to keep him going. She was what had made his un-life worth living.

Now it was Willow. Spending so many years away from Drusilla with time to think and figure out what he wanted had soured him a bit toward her.

Drusilla was his ripe, wicked plum. They'd been together for a century and some change. He'd loved her through it all. And she'd loved him... to an extent. She was always there for him... unless Angelus crooked his finger her way, and then she was off and running, hurrying to fulfill her 'daddy's' every wish and demand with no shame. No apologies.

Dru wanting someone else more than she wanted him didn't appeal to him. It never really had. She'd hurt him so many times over the years they'd been together.

Willow, though, she had potential. But would she do the same thing? She'd cheated once on Oz, but that was because of an old childhood crush, a first love. And she hadn't pursued it after getting caught, she'd stuck by Oz, keeping after him. Would she stay by his side when her friends came calling? Stand up for him when they inevitably insulted him? Not that he needed her to, it was just nice to know that she would.

Looked like they'd soon find out. If she didn't run screaming-or laughing-when she saw the human version of him sniffing after Cecily's skirts like a pup in love... then she was a possibility.

They were on his old stomping grounds now, which wasn't a good thing. He hadn't enjoyed the glimpse they'd already gotten of his human self. The big, bloody poof. He'd been dreading coming here and now that they were actually here, and he'd seen himself- the way he used to be... it was going to be worse than he'd imagined, he was sure of it. Willow was bound to see more of the human him, and that wasn't a pleasant thought.

But here they were.

London, 1880, the year and place of his death. His birth. It was here that his life had ended and then begun anew. William, the human, was about to embark on a journey of pain and abuse at the hands of Angelus, Darla, and Dru that he didn't envy.

But he did envy him the revenge he got on all the people that turned him into William the Bloody Awful Poet. Fun times filled with screaming and pain, none of it his.

Tossing his cigarette out the window, he closed and latched it as the carriage slowed down. He slipped an arm under Willow, preparing to carry her inside, but the carriage lurched forward again, apparently not yet at their destination. He sat back again with a sigh, considering the woman in his arms. Were her words about not wanting him true? Was he just a pity fuck?

Maybe that was the reason for her sudden pull back.

This time period was hard on him with the object of his current affections seeing him stripped raw, down to the bone of his poetic soul, but throw in a dose of dislike and indifference from that same person, and he was damn near at the breaking point.

He worried about and stressed over Willow too damn much. Just thirty minutes ago, she'd looked at him like he disgusted her and now here he was, holding her close, making sure she was okay.

Gazing at her like a bloody schoolboy in lo- lust.

In a short time, he was going to face someone from his past that had done the exact same thing to his heart that Dru had. How was he supposed to handle that?

His lip curled at the thought of Cecily. The supercilious bitch who thought the world revolved around her. He'd enjoyed taking her down a few pegs. Over the years since, she'd been the one he'd compared every woman to, the one he'd tried desperately to forget. The one he'd somehow never been able to shove from his mind.

She'd always come up short. Always paled in comparison to them all, and he truly couldn't understand what he'd ever seen in her.

She hadn't been the kind, sweet, gentle soul his human self had thought she was. She hadn't been the person he'd craved with every fiber of his being; a soul mate to spend his days and nights with, spouting poetry and sharing kisses. He'd been naïve.

There was a lot of money and power wielded by Cecily's family name, but that wasn't what had drawn him to her and now he wasn't sure what ever had.

There'd definitely be a lot of alcohol tonight.

The carriage slowed and lurched to a halt again. Spike pushed open the shutter to see if they were at the inn. Sure enough, there it was, the inn he'd passed every week on his way to the lending library. He rolled his eyes as he picked up Willow, grabbing their valise in his left hand, holding it beneath her body.

The door opened and the driver pulled the steps down, tossing a curious look at Willow's unconscious body as Spike shifted her more comfortably in his arms. She wasn't heavy, but she was a bit awkward with the valise and her skirts to contend with as well.

"Sir?" the man said hesitantly. "Uh, would you be needing any help then?" He shifted from one foot to the other, holding his hat in his hands and staring at the dirt beneath his feet as he kicked up a small cloud of dust.

"No." Climbing down the steps, Spike brushed past him, striding into the inn like he owned the place. He had no time for timid servants. He had alcohol and a bed to get to.

A large, matronly woman with gray hair falling from the loose bun piled on top of her head, stood behind the tall wooden desk. She looked up as his boots struck the floor, frowning at Willow, tucked securely in his arms.

"Oh, sir, is she hurt?" She bustled around the desk, hurrying to his side with a concerned shake of her head. Her faded black dress, marked with a black band around her arm, and a black kerchief in her pocket, swished around her as she moved toward him. There was a distinct lack of a bustle on her, and Spike immediately knew he wasn't going to be as lucky with this woman as he'd been with the innkeeper in Galway. Or the carriage driver outside.

"She's fine," he told the woman, watching her look Willow over with a suspicious eye, stopping on the faint bruises still visible and the bite mark on her neck. It was slightly swollen and red, the skin raised, but it didn't resemble a bite any longer. "We were mugged," he added, shifting Willow in his arms, hefting her higher with his thigh. The valise slipped from his fingers and dropped at his feet with a clatter. Willow's head lolled against his shoulder, a moan escaping her. "Oh, dear," he said flatly, not a trace of meekness in his voice, eyes fixing solidly on the older woman, "could you get that for me?"

"A mugger, you say?" She bent down and grabbed the stiff leather bag with both hands, taking it with her to the counter. Her eyes once more fell on Willow as she moved back around to the other side. The dark blue of her eyes seemed to glow furiously in the dim interior of the inn. "Shall I ring for a bobbie?" she practically challenged.

Spike hid a scowl, shaking his head with a sigh. A small uncomfortable looking settee was pushed up against the left wall, and Willow was getting a tad heavy. Laying her gently down on the padded seat, he brushed back a few strands of hair that had escaped her chignon, then straightened her skirts, which were sliding up her legs to expose more flesh than these people were used to seeing in their own mirrors.

Leaving her there with a last look to make sure she wasn't about to roll off, he returned to the desk. "It's been taken care of." He nodded at the registry book on the counter. "May we have a room?"

She watched him oddly, her already wrinkled forehead wrinkling even more under her frown. With a minute twitch of her brows, she grabbed the book and spun it around towards him, handing him the ink and quill pin. "Of course."

He dipped the quill in the ink, signing their names to the registry.

The woman turned the book back toward her after another quick glance in Willow's direction. Glancing down at it, she reached beneath the counter to fish a key from somewhere. "Thank you, Mr. Rose," she said with a courteous nod, handing him the key. "My husband and I-" she cleared her throat and straightened her back. "I own this establishment, and if there's anything you'll be needing, just ask."

Widow, as he'd assumed. Odd that she wore an armband. It was generally only the military or male mourners who did that. Not that it was any concern of his. He was just grateful she'd dropped her suspicion. "Thank you, Mrs...?"

Kneeling before the counter, she glanced up in surprise, as if she hadn't expected him to still be there. "Mitchell was my husband's name and I took it 'til death do us part. Unfortunately he decided to depart eight months ago."

Great, a talker. Nodding sympathetically, he grabbed the valise from the floor and hurried over to Willow, trying not to look like he was escaping. Kneeling before her, he smoothed her gown down and turned back to the woman watching them. "Could you have a tray sent up? She hasn't eaten supper yet." The light meal she'd had at Christine's wouldn't hold her for long, especially with her body burning energy like an ice cube on a scorching day. "Oh, and a bottle or two of wine." He slid the key to their room into his frock coat. "Better make that whiskey."

"Certainly," she said pleasantly, doing a moderately good job at hiding her disapproval. "Anything else?"

Spike thought about that as he slid his arms under Willow and lifted her up. Grabbing the bag in one hand, holding it tightly underneath her, he headed toward the stairs on the right. "No. That'll do, thanks."

"You're quite welcome," she mumbled, watching him as he traversed the stairs, her eyes following him even as he reached the landing and turned to the right. He passed out of sight after that, but he was pretty sure she was still staring at the spot she'd last seen him. Or was mentally following him with her eyes.

The upstairs was lit by wall sconces placed here and there throughout the hall, lighting the way for weary travelers cold and sore from their trips. As a human, he'd never actually been inside the inn before, but he'd passed it enough times to know it wasn't frequented by prostitutes or the disrespectful clientele Mrs. Mitchell obviously thought he was. A wife beater? Kidnaper? Whatever she thought, he didn't care; he was worse than anything she could come up with.

Setting Willow down beside room eleven, he grunted as her weight shifted. Dropping their bag beside her, he unlocked the door, then pushed it open. Nice. Large bed against the right corner wall directly across from him. Nightstand by the bed. Wardrobe on his left, a pair of matched chairs that looked uncomfortable across from the wardrobe, and a single round mirror hanging on the wall at face height. Thankfully, there were no windows that would force him to dodge the light of day.

Worked for him.

He kicked the side of the valise, shoving it into the room. It slid across the wooden planked floor, coming to a halt in the middle of the room. Bending down to pick up Willow, he groaned, hoping this was the last time. She was cumbersome and he was out of practice with carrying bodies.

Why did Willow always end up unconscious when he was around?

And him. He set her on the bed with a sigh. He always drank while she was unconscious and tonight wasn't going to be an exception.

Hearing a hesitant knock on the door, he turned to see a tall, thin man standing there with two bottles of whiskey, one tucked under his arm, the other in his hand, and a scowl the size of London on his face.

Speaking of drinking. "Great," Spike enthused. "Alcohol." He strode happily toward the man and clapped his hands together in anticipation of the numbness that accompanied the burning taste of the booze as it melted a path down his esophagus. "You're a good man," he told the scowling servant.

"Aye, sir," he said in a bored tone, eyes barely lifting enough to show interest in his surroundings. "Mrs. Mitchell says to pay up front." He held his hand out and waited.

Spike dug into the inside pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out two coins. "This cover it?" he asked, slapping the coins into the man's hand.

"Aye, sir." The servant's long, thin fingers closed around the coins, his expression not changing in the slightest. He handed the bottles to Spike, one after the other, then bowed and took a step back. "A tray is being prepared for the lady. Be a few minutes."

"Great. Make sure there's tea." Spinning away, he kicked the door shut with his foot and stood there staring down at the beauty in his bed. The beauty that didn't like him, didn't need him.

Didn't want him to do more than service her when she got an itch.

Well, wasn't that bloody rude?

He set one of the bottles on the nightstand and uncorked the other with a slosh that spilled the light brown liquid over his hand. He held the bottle out toward the bed. "To you, Willow," he toasted, slapping his right hand over his chest, "for doing your level-best to worm your way into my heart and become the proud new owner of this dead muscle sitting still in my chest. May it beat only when you're near." Bringing the bottle to his lips, he tipped his head back, downing a fair amount of the whiskey before tearing the bottle from his mouth with a satisfied, "Ahh! Bracing!"

His eyes ran over her lying there on her stomach. From the top of her dark red hair, to the tips of her faded red tennis shoes. He chuckled, shaking his head at the odd sight. She was covered in too much green material for more than a peek at the pale white flesh beneath, but one calf was partially exposed beneath the layers of petticoats lining her skirts.

Taking another pull on the whiskey, he watched her out of the corner of his eye, figuring he ought to at least make her comfortable while she was out. Take off all those nasty layers of clothing.

Then he'd go out into the garden and find the ingredients he needed to do the spell to fix her. He sighed, heading toward the bed. "A vampire's work is never done."


	22. Time Stitch 22

**Title:** Time Stitches You (22/?)  
**Author:** sinecure  
**Characters/Pairing:** Spike/Willow  
**Rating:** Adult (M)  
**Genre:** Romance, drama, angst, adventure, horror  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  
**Author's Notes:** Sorry for the lateness of this chapter. I had to do a lot of rewriting. Probably on the next one as well, so, it may be late too. (still no beta, sorry, all mistakes are mine)

* * *

Spike came awake quickly; asleep and then awake, with nothing in between. Even with all the whiskey he'd had last night he was as sober as a teetotaler on Sunday; vampires didn't get hangovers. The room around him was quiet. Still. But... something itched along his spine, setting his senses reeling.

He was being watched.

Snapping his eyes open, he came face to face with Willow. She was laying on her side with her back against the wall behind her, facing him, eyes wide, as if she'd been caught dumping a body.

Her mouth twisted guiltily.

"Morning!"

That wasn't quite what he'd expected.

"Okay, that came out weird. What I should've said was 'you do know that I didn't mean any of the things I said last night, right'?" She shook her head a little, considering her words. "Well, none of the bad things. Anything nice I said? Totally meant it." She smiled brightly, with too many teeth.

Was this how it was going to be now? Awkward and uncomfortable?

So much had happened between them in the past couple of days that, of course it was going to be messy, but this wasn't acceptable. Not with Willow.

Ignoring the awkwardness as much as he could, he smirked and rubbed his hands over his face with a sigh. "The old adage about flattery is still true, love. Don't think you can weasel." Maybe if _he_ acted normal and she acted normal, then normalcy would prevail.

"No. No weaseling," she agreed, snuggling under the covers with a small smile. "I'd never dream of weaseling." She continued to watch him, smile fading, replaced by her serious face, the one he knew meant she'd been over-thinking things. "I really am sorry, Spike. I don't know what happened exactly to make uber-bitch Willow come out to play. Something just..." she shrugged, lifting an arm out of the covers to snap sharply, "came over me like that, and I felt so angry and paranoid and- and angry."

"Wasn't your fault."

She didn't hear him. Her teeth worried her lower lip, frown returning faster than he could keep up. "Was it something in me, do you think? Something evil? Am I turning evil?"

A scoff left him at the thought of Willow turning evil. There was just too damn much goodness in her for anything less than her being turned into a vampire make her go evil. "I don't think so."

Reaching out to brush a lock of hair from her cheek, he smoothed away the strands with a frown of his own. She looked so young and innocent, like she had the first nights they'd spent in Galway. He didn't like seeing her that way again. She'd come so far since then. Been through so much. She deserved to wear the pain for everyone to see, not hide it away as if she hadn't suffered it.

"But I could be," she insisted.

"Told you it wasn't your fault. The well ran dry and there was a warlock nearby to help you along; you siphoned off his magick, sucked it into yourself and it overwhelmed you." He curled his fingers into a fist and pulled his hand back, feeling like he'd lost the right to touch her sometime over the past few days. "I've seen it happen before and it has nothing to do with evil being inside you."

"And, yet, I still feel like it does. I don't like dealing with things the way I did. Do. Have been since arriving in London. I don't like who I'm becoming," she finished softly, then seemed to remember he was there. She rubbed her head with a sigh and he got the feeling she was avoiding him more than trying to relieve any pain she might have. "Wish they'd hurry up and invent Tylenol."

It was rare that she referred to the time she'd been alone. Rarer still when she indulged in self-pity over it, she usually just clammed up.

His traitorous hand twitched, wanting to soothe her brow, wanting to take away the pain even though it satisfied him to see it, to see some evidence that she hadn't just swept it all under the rug completely.

She was a lot like Dru in some ways, and her trauma over what'd happened to her didn't sit well with him. She acted as if it hadn't happened. Pretended it wasn't a part of her. That she was past it.

But was she? Dru'd suffered worse, admittedly, but humans were fragile creatures.

Clenching his hand tighter, he dug it into the mattress as he pushed into a sitting position, resting against the wall behind him. He'd have to pry it out of her soon if she wouldn't just tell him.

The covers fell down to his stomach as he shifted and stretched and he saw Willow's eyes fall with the blankets, then snap away again as if she were ashamed or felt guilty.

Was she? Was that why she'd reacted as she had during sex?

When she rubbed her head again, he frowned. "Head hurt?"

"Just a little, like about the size of Big Ben."

Nodding, he glanced at the bedside table, hoping to find his cigarettes. They weren't there. "That's probably my fault. Did a spell to fix you up." Getting out of bed, thankful that he'd remembered to keep his trousers on, he crossed the cold, wooden floor to his frock coat and dug out his cigarettes. "Just to kick out the magick that didn't belong to you, is all."

"A spell?" Her interest perked up as she sat up, resting her hands on the blankets on her lap. But then it drifted away again like a boat on rough seas. She turned her head his way. "Wow. After everything I said and did-to your leg and to Dru-you still helped me? I- thank you." She bit her lip, eyes darting to his. "That _was_ last night, wasn't it?"

"Started out in 1860 and ended in 1880," he agreed. "Hell of a time lag." The room was dark without any windows in it. A strip of light lit the room a bit from the gap under the door and around the sides and top. He could see just fine, of course, but Willow probably couldn't. After digging out a match from the matchbox on the tiny shelf by the door, he lit his cigarette, then the sconce, sending dim, yellow through part of the room.

The sigh that slipped past her lips was long and drawn out. "So much has happened lately that it feels weird to just be still again, you know?" She lifted her head, staring around the room. "In a strange and unknown place, apparently. How odd is it that that's becoming normal to me?"

"Not odd at all. We're victims of our circumstances."

She sucked her teeth a little and shrugged minutely. "So, where are we? And when does the fun begin?"

Flicking ashes to the floor, he leaned back against the wall. "The White Horse Inn. Used to pass by this place a lot when I was human. Figured it'd be as good a lodging as any other for the time we're here, which should be just a few weeks if I remember right."

"No creepy landlady?" She grinned and drew her legs up under the covers, resting her chin on her knees as smoke billowed lazily around the room between them. "'Cause that right there is all the recommendation I need."

A chuckle left him. That was about all the recommendation he needed as well. Mrs. Pressman would not be missed. Old bat was probably dead by now. He could only hope.

"Do Angelus or the others know about this place? Should we be worried?"

That'd been a consideration last night, when choosing this place. He'd never been here with them, and they'd never made mention of it. Of course, while he was being turned, they could've spent days here, munching on the local populace for all he knew. "I don't think so. And I don't think Mrs. Mitchell would have it. She'd probably protest about tomfoolery in her inn or something and chase them out with a rifle."

"Ooo, definitely my kind of place and my kind of innkeeper." Willow yawned and closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them again, she was looking straight at him, unblinking.

She looked weary. As if this trip through time was taking its toll. The past couple of years had, he knew, they'd taken more from her than they'd had a right to, and he blamed the Time Stablizer for that. For everything she'd endured.

But he blamed himself as well, for not being there. For not helping her.

There was something dark and empty in her eyes, something that didn't jibe with the usually perky Willow. He didn't like it.

"I don't want to lose you," she whispered in a small, almost pleading voice.

He drew in a breath, wondering if she'd had another visit from the T.S.. He frowned and opened his mouth to tell her that she wouldn't, but she shook her head, stopping him.

"You're my friend, Spike. Sort of my best one at the moment, and, well, my only one, too, but that doesn't matter. What I mean is that I need you. To be okay with me. With us. With- with-"

"Willow."

She stopped the flood of words and emotions and exhaled heavily, resting her chin on her knees, staring straight ahead.

He felt himself begin to melt by degrees, giving in to those feelings and urges that wanted him to wrap her in his arms and take care of her like he had with Dru. "Why would you- did the Time guy haunt your dreams again? Did he tell you something he didn't bother letting me know? Kind of rude of him. Think he likes you better than me."

His half-attempt at humor didn't register to her.

"No. Nothing like that. But when we were separated before, I did some things-bad things-and I never want to be in that position again. And if you're not here... I'm afraid I will."

Too many times Willow had mentioned the things she'd done, all without telling him what it was that she'd done that was so horrible. If she'd killed the bastard that raped her, then good on her. He'd have a bloody party for her if he didn't think she'd get upset.

But she would. He knew she would, because something about whatever it was she'd done, scared her.

"You did what you had to, love."

"You don't know that," she whispered, closing her eyes. The guilt and pain in her voice was deep, making him itch to take it all away somehow, while at the same time, wanting her to own it. To put it out there and proudly display what she'd done to survive. To wear what she'd done to that bastard like a metal of honor.

"Pretty sure I do." Didn't matter to him whether she'd tortured the vampire or slipped a stake in his back, ending his rotten life. Didn't matter to Spike one whit. But she was finally talking about it, more than she ever had before, and he saw that as a good sign. "Want to talk about it? Get it out there and move past it? Like all the specials said?"

Once again, his attempt at humor went unnoticed.

She shook her head, fingers playing with the blankets in her lap. "I want to stop being afraid."

Smoke cleared in front of him as he spoke, but the room was getting dimmer because of it. He opened the door a crack and leaned against the wall, legs crossed in front of him as the smoke quickly escaped into the hall. "What of?"

A shrug lifted her shoulders, a sullen look crossing her features. "That I'll lose you." She sighed heavily. "Or me. Or us. Or- I'm afraid of Angelus, and Darla, and Dru, and even you a little bit. I'm terrified of warehouses and the night and what goes bump in it. I'm afraid of myself and the person I'm becoming. I set vampires on fire with just a thought and ended up hurting you in the process." She drew in a deep breath, clutching the blankets tighter around her, creating an envelope around her as if she were trying to wrap herself up into nothing. "What if I hurt you again, Spike? What if I kill you next time?"

Startled by the tide of confessions, he dropped his cigarette to the floor and stepped on it. Two steps later he was on the bed, facing her, reaching over to rub her temple with gentle fingers, to rub that damn worry away. "I've told you to knock that off; you're letting your big brain pan get in the way again." He threaded his hand into her hair for a brief moment, turning her to face him before sliding it down to cup her cheek. "Be afraid of the vampires, or of what's out there, hell, be afraid of me if you need to be. But don't be afraid of yourself. You're no more going evil than I'm turning into Glenda the Good Witch."

She stared at him for a second and then her lips twitched. Fighting a smile, she gazed at him with her big eyes, looking better than she had since he'd woken up. "Don't make me think about you in a frilly dress. Please. I don't think I can take it."

He rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed. "Just you remember, I'm plenty evil. Dastardly so." The curve of her lips as she smiled made his want to match them. He let go and smiled back, shoving his hands through his hair. It was too long these days. Too similar to the other him. "I'd kill you in a heartbeat. You know that, don't you?"

Lips still twitching, she nodded, taking his hand in hers briefly before letting it go. "You probably would."

"I definitely would. Soon as we get back to the future-shut it, McFly-I plan on having me a nice big Willow-lunch. Some good, down home eatin'." He winced at his horrible Southern accent and watched her. He liked watching her; she was always interesting. She didn't disappoint, but she did surprise him.

She squirmed on the bed, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. Thinking of a different kind of snacking she'd like him to do, perhaps?

Leaning down, eyes on the wall beside her, her settled his lips near her ear, feeling her shiver and hearing her soft exhale. Her fists clenched the sheets beneath her. Definitely had naughty thoughts on her mind. "You have a filthy mind, Willow." Making sure his lips brushed her skin, he whispered, "I approve."

A sigh left her with a shudder and she released the sheets to push him back to his side of the bed. "Ugh, is that all you ever think about?"

"Hey, I'm not the one fantasizing about all the ways you could be corrupted by me." He lifted a brow and shrugged. "Well, actually, yes, I am, but so were you. In fact, I'm thinking of making a pit stop during that visit you told me about, the night the vampire-you came to town. Think I might wanna take a gander at her."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't think so. We're not traipsing through time so that you can satisfy your curiosity about Willow-in-leather. You don't see me chasing after human-you, do you? Though, did I mention that he's kind of hot in a Victorian sort of way?"

"You did not." His smirk rose higher, and he felt a satisfaction that bordered on relief. He'd been afraid she'd find him a pansy, a pathetic waste of space, but apparently, she didn't. And that pleased him.

On impulse, he leaned forward and kissed her full on the mouth. Not a little peck, like he'd half-intended. His lips moved with purpose at first and then slowed down, pressing gently, exploring with a slow laziness that made him think of long sessions of foreplay and teasing.

He liked foreplay and teasing.

Her fingers clenched on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh; he was sure he heard a pleased moan in the back of her throat.

Keeping himself still, not grabbing her to him like he wanted, he waited it out, letting her make up her mind. She held off on kissing him back. Mostly. Maybe she kissed him back a little. He smiled against her lips. He couldn't help it; he liked that she was giving in.

He wanted her all the time now. But it wasn't just desire. He cared about her, too. But right now wasn't the time to push her.

It was really hard to resist taking it further, even though he knew he had to. Resist.

But his head and body didn't want to put a stop to it.

With a warning sound in his head, he hauled her to him and settled her on his lap. She was going to stop him, he was sure of it. Any time now.

Any second.

But she didn't.

Her lips slowly began to respond, as if she were just waking up. Teeth nipping at her lower lip, nibbling on it as she scooted closer, landing on him just right, he pulled back, releasing it with a final lick to soothe the flesh. She didn't jump out of his lap or sit back and slap him.

She didn't freeze and tell him to let her go.

That one rather surprised him.

Instead, she grabbed the sides of his face and pulled him to her, kissing him hard and fast, no softness in her. She wanted him. Her hips began to rock forward, bringing an answering roll from his. He wasn't sure when he began to harden, just that he was aware of a pleasant, rising desire from the pressure of her warm body.

Then, suddenly, she sat back, dragging her thumb across her lips. "I'm sorry... I shouldn't- we shouldn't. Spike, this isn't good at all. I want you, but- crap. I want you, okay? There. I said it, I do. But I'm not supposed to. In fact, I'm trying not to." She frowned, looking away from him. "But it's there. It's always there and we need to not do this."

"Mm," he agreed absently, watching her lips move, wishing they were still on his. Then her words registered. "Wait a minute, why aren't you supposed to want me? Is this because of your girl-"

"No. God, Spike, it has nothing to do with Tara." She sighed heavily, looking down at him with a mixture of want and resolve as her hands moved restlessly on his chest. "I just don't..." Another sigh and he could see her let go, letting it all go, all of it, whatever she'd been holding back from him. All her reasons for not sleeping with him. For not enjoying, for turning from him when they'd slept together. "It'll end badly. Relationships always do."

Staring at her, he waited for more.

And waited.

She blinked back at him, also waiting.

That was it? That was her reasoning, hanging out there between them like a bare arse in the wind?

He exploded, anger rising in him, though he tried to push it down. "Well, so bloody what?" Stilling her hands with his own as she tried to pull them away, he concentrated on the warm flesh under his palms as he slid them up her arms. Concentrated on how good she felt in his lap, concentrated on anything rather than his anger.

He couldn't believe her reasoning. Relationships ended badly. That was sort of a given. In all his years on Earth, he'd observed a few constants; humans died, demons betrayed you, and relationships ended badly.

Drawing her down for another kiss instead of railing at her, he focused all of his attention on her. She didn't resist him still. Even after her words to the contrary.

And he was surprised at that.

Pulling back again, just an inch, resting his forehead on hers, he threaded his hands into her hair, long and soft and warm. "You're probably right. It probably will end badly. But I don't care. Long term is..." he shrugged, sliding a hand behind her neck and touching his lips to hers, "long term's in the future. Something I don't care to think about right now. Worry about it when we get there."

Her eyes closed as if in surrender and she let him kiss her lightly, but then she pulled back, snapping her eyes open.

Thinking. Always thinking.

"I don't _want_ to think about it, but I do." Her hands lifted his from her shoulders, threading her fingers through his. Palm to palm, flesh to flesh. Warmth to coolness. "I think about it all the time. We have to be together a lot; to do the spell, to make sure things go right, to..." she sat back up, fluttering her hands in front of her in that way she had, "for everything. What if we break up? Not- not that we're a couple. At all. Or that you're a couple kinda vampire, being as you _are_ a vampire," she said quickly, tilting her head to the side when he snickered at her. "I just mean we can't be in a sex kinda thing, because we're bound to-"

"To what? Enjoy ourselves?" He raised an eyebrow at her, watching her face as he unlaced their hands and slid his own up her thighs, pushing up the thin material of his old t-shirt as he went.

It was thinning and stretched out from her constantly putting her knees inside it, but it was still bloody sexy on her because it was his. That's the reason he'd put her in it last night. And to make her more comfortable.

"I want you, Willow. Not gonna make any bones about that." He rocked his hips, letting her feel the obvious evidence that she was sitting atop of. "Sleeping next to you is hard, you know that? It makes _me_ hard." He grabbed her hips, intending to move her back, to put some space between them so that they could talk without him wanting to shag her into the mattress, but then he grabbed one of her hands, instead, and pressed it to his cock. "Feel that?"

Her throat worked convulsively as she nodded, hand tightening around him for too brief a time. Eyes widening at what her fingers were doing, she let go quickly, trying to shift away from his erection, but he wouldn't let her. "Yes. Yes, I feel it, but we can't-"

"We can. Sharing _this_ with the woman I want, and then being told that it's the last time because you're afraid it's the last time isn't on my list of best ways to start my day." Sighing in frustration, he dropped his head back against the wall, needing to release her, to stop looking into her dilated, lust-filled eyes, or else he'd end up scaring her. "You need to go."

She blinked at him.

It wasn't fear on her face, just bewilderment. He hadn't meant for his words to sound so harsh.

"Every minute I'm lying beside you, I'm thinking about touching you, about being inside you." Another frustrated groan escaped him at the memories and his overactive imagination and he dropped his hands to the bed, closing his eyes. "I can't I_not_/I want you."

"Well, try," she said anxiously.

He let out a sharp bark of laughter. "How about you try to enjoy yourself for once?" He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her back into his embrace as he lifted and lowered his hips. "How about you let life happen to you?"

She shoved at him, shaking her head in exasperation. "Sleeping with you is not letting life happen. It's sex, plain and simple."

"It's enjoying what you have," he countered, hearing the small gasp she tried to hide from him. "It's not bothering to worry about the next day, the next month, or the next year." Scooting back against the wall, taking her with him, he settled his eyes hotly on hers, hiding the anger and frustration he felt for letting himself get roped into this confrontation right now. "What, do you wanna talk about feelings, Willow, is that what you want? For me to admit that I feel something for you?"

A small frown lowered her brows as she shook her head. "No. I don't want that at all. That would probably make things worse. I just-" She sighed, trying to climb off his lap, but he held her tighter. "I care about you, Spike-a lot-and I think maybe you care about me-a little-but it's bound to be-"

"Fun?" he challenged, sliding his hands under the hem of his black t-shirt to caress her white thighs. "We're going to be here a while, love, it's another few weeks before I run into the triplets, and all that free time needs to be filled with something."

She slapped at his hands, shoving the material back down, but his hands only moved higher. "I'm not going to be a distraction for you. God, will you stop that?" She yelped in surprise when his fingers lightly caressed her folds, finding her muscles clenching, and he wasn't even inside her yet.

Ah.

Smiling, surprised at how ready she was and her response to his touch, he shook his head silently, feeling a small victory. He watched her face, mostly her eyes, as he spread her legs farther apart, making sure his thumbs stayed close enough to continue touching her.

This time-period definitely had some advantages, namely the lack of undergarments.

Her legs tried to close-an impossible task with her straddling him-and, failing that, she tried to squirm away from his fingers. A small, desperate exhale left her lips, ghosting over his. Bloody hell, did he want her. He was so hard now, and throbbing. The friction from her wriggling was only making it worse. Only made him more determined to have her.

But then she spoke again, dashing cold water on his hopes and dreams.

"Please let me go."

It wasn't fear or nervousness in her voice; she didn't seem to be afraid. That wasn't what caught his attention. It was the desperation that laced her tone.

As he closed his eyes to bring himself back under control, he began to slide his fingers free.

He felt her clench on him, felt her hips buck toward him. Saw her eyes widen as her body continued to respond to his fingers. He halted the movement, sliding them back inside. Moisture flooded her already damp folds.

Her nails clutched his arms and she lifted her hips away from him...

...and then back down again with a soft gasp, slipping his fingers deeper.

"You- you need to stop now." She gasped harder, eyes sliding shut when he moved his fingers slowly in and out of her clenching, overly-heated flesh.

More moisture flooded his fingers and his nostrils flared. Focusing on the way her lips parted breathlessly, the feel of her muscles clenching around him, he pulled his fingers free, then slid three in, rubbing her clit slowly as she rocked forward. "Still want me to stop?" he asked, begging her with his eyes and hand and voice not to say yes.

Leaning forward, he captured her lips in a hungry, deeply satisfying kiss, drawing back again and again.

She shook her head frantically in the negative. "Yes."

Wanting to throw something, he pulled back, licking his lips.

She clenched again, thrusting her hips down on his hand. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, giving her the leverage to move against his questing fingers as her lips covered his mouth. "You need to stop," she whimpered against his lips. "We- I can't do this."

As suddenly as that, she threw herself from him, jumping off the bed, pulling the shirt desperately down her thighs. On the other side of the room, she stood with one bare foot over the other, looking back at the bed with wide eyes. Hungry eyes. She looked like she wanted nothing more than to jump back in bed with him.

His eyes slid over her legs, bare to the black material of his shirt.

Looking so fuckable, he had to stop himself from stalking her and taking her right there, against the wall.

Would she like that position?

With slow movements, he lifted his hand to his mouth, sliding his fingers between his lips, swallowing convulsively as he tasted her for the first time. God, he'd never be able to get that taste out of his mind. Never not want it. "You can, Willow. You can fuck whoever you want." His eyes slid shut for a second while he savored the taste of her. A moan threatened to escape him, but he managed to hold it in as he forced his eyes open.

It wouldn't do to give her too much ammunition.

Swallowing just as thickly as him, as if she were enjoying the taste too, she turned her back to him. "You're in love with Drusilla," she ground out. She shook her head as if she just couldn't believe he'd sink so low as to try to seduce her. "And me, I'm-"

He looked up angrily, wanting to pace over to her, to touch her; his hands were itching to feel her skin beneath his fingertips again, to taste her on his lips, to use his lips and tongue to taste her. "If you say you're still in love with Tara, I'm gonna have to call you on that."

Her defensive posture dropped a little, but the fierce look in her eyes remained. She tipped her chin up, staring across the distance at him. "I'm afraid, is what I was going to say."

He reached down, grabbing his shirt from the floor to avoid looking at her, because he knew he'd feel guilt, for no reason at all. Sliding one arm in and then the other, he stood, yanking the material closed, staring down in disgust at the stained clothing he'd worn last night. Stripping it back off again, he threw it in the corner and looked around for the valise with his other clothes in them.

"Afraid of something that might not even happen." He grabbed another cigarette from his coat.

"Yes," she confessed, opening the wardrobe and pulling his clean clothes from inside where he'd hung them the night before. Oh, right. She tossed them at him, grabbed one of her dresses, and then flicked her hand at his cigarette. It lit perfectly well, without flaring up like the night before. Must be healed then. "I don't want to lose you as a friend. And that's what always happens. Always."

"Getting awfully good at that, aren't you?" he mumbled around the cigarette, slipping into the fresh breeches. Fire and vampires didn't go well together, since they tended to burn quickly when lit. He hoped she didn't lose control of that particular little power of hers. "Watch out for the flammables, yeah?"

He sincerely wished, as he buttoned the side flap on his clean breeches, that she hadn't given in even an inch. He could do without the throbbing ache in his cock.

Back going ramrod straight at his warning, she looked at his cigarette. "Thought you weren't afraid of me going evil?"

"I'm not, but, well, accidents do happen, don't they?" He grabbed a handful of his pants, trying to rearrange them into a more comfortable position. It was a fruitless effort. Dropping to the bed again, he left the cigarette dangling from his lips as he slid his arms into the clean shirt. He wasn't afraid of her or what she might have inside her. He doubted there was anything evil deep down in her, but she wasn't paying particular attention just now. And accidents... well.

He'd also seen the fury and the full on magick she'd aimed Dru and Angelus' way.

Her skirts swished around her ankles as she paced slowly away, buttoning the little mother of pearl buttons that ran up the front. Her red hair flowed halfway down her back, swaying back and forth with each step she took, the shining strands contrasting nicely with the antique white gown. The sleeves, ending in wide lace that hung down over her hands, got in her way as she buttoned up the row of tiny round buttons.

The dress was one he'd always liked on her. It was tight-fitting and shapely, accentuating her small waist and curvy hips, flowing straight down to the floor, brushing the tops of her bare feet.

"Weeks," she mused, apparently dropping the evil thing. And interrupting his ogling as she spun toward him suddenly, an aggravated look on her face. "Are you sure?" She sighed when he nodded and paced back over to the bed to drop on it. "Well, this should be fun." She propped her elbows on her thighs and rested her head in her hands.

"Could be," he agreed, sitting back against the wall with his eyes still on her.

She didn't even bother rebuking or chastising him. Her eyes stared straight ahead, mouth turned down in a frown. "The magick thing that went haywire last night... it's gone completely, right? I mean, I'm not going to suddenly turn bitch-Willow on you again, am I?"

"It's gone."

"Thank you," she said sincerely before standing up, searching through the wardrobe for something. She pulled out the valise, digging through it until she found her reticule and turned it upside down with a sigh.

It was empty.

She occasionally carried money in the tiny, little purse, but more often, she slipped a stake inside. A bottle of holy water. A couple of chains with crosses on them.

"Going somewhere?" He sat back on the bed, relaxing and trying for unconcerned when all he wanted to do was shout at her. To make her give in. But now wasn't the time. He'd already decided that once today. He just needed to stick to that decision.

"I want to look around. If we're going to be here for a few weeks, I want to get to know the place."

"We're not too far from where we were in 1860. Just a couple of miles off from the boarding house."

She exhaled heavily, hands on her hips. "You mean I could've gotten a gander at baby-you? Damn. I always miss the fun stuff. It's always blood and pain and tears for me."

So, she was pretending as well. They'd pretend and pretend until they just couldn't do so anymore and then life would get interesting.

A thought occurred to him, but he couldn't say anything, not to Willow. Joe's pub was nearby, and possibly still dangerous. But he couldn't warn her away without giving them away. And he found that he still couldn't hurt her like that. He'd have to check it out himself.

The moment Willow knew, was the moment she'd head over there to destroy the place. And, most likely, get herself killed, and he couldn't let that happen. "Wait until night and I can go with you."

She barely glanced his way. "I'll be fine. It's safer in the daylight. Besides, I'm a big girl."

Though right, it still made him nervous. Aside from Joe's Pub problems, a lot of demons could get around in the daytime. But he couldn't babysit her 24/7. "Oh, stay away from the warehouses across the way." He knew for a fact that a rather nasty vampire lived in one of them. He'd roomed with him for a few weeks when he first arrived without Willow.

"Really not a problem." Turning with the reticule, she twisted her mouth up, looking just this side of wrong.


End file.
